Drinks on the Losers!
by Yombatable
Summary: The Fem!BFT make a bet on who can first seduce their chosen Tsundere, drinks on the losers. FrUK, Spamano, and PruAus (But I can't put that in the tags bc that would be too easy) Based on a Kink Meme Prompt: I'll copy/paste it into the first chapter. (Posting it here because I'm not screwing around with the past parts section in the meme.)
1. Prologue: The Bet

**The Prompt is this:**

**1) Takes the Bad Friends trio**

**2) Genderbend them **

**3) Make them bored and wanting to play a game/makes a bet with eachother: Whoever can get their respective tsundere or frenemy to date and lay them first wins whatever they decided to bet on.**

**France: England**  
**Spain: Southern Italy**  
**Prussia: Austria**

**So basically, there is gonna be a lot of fail seducing, oblivious men, each one determined to win, and maybe one of these actually end up staying together...? **

**Whoever wins is up to authornon, but bonus is Prussia takes a break halfway through the game to play on her crush on Northern Italy and let him take her on dates while the others have to suffer rejection tee hee**

* * *

_Trio_

By this time in their long and occasionally scandalous relationship with the nation who called herself Prussia, France and Spain had both become used to her often overly-complex and ridiculous plans -or perhaps they should be called schemes. Used to them as they were however, they never claimed to understand or support them.

"C'mon you _dumme Lesben_!" she said with a smile that was entirely too wide and too devious, "This is a great idea!" She turned to France who was regarding her with a raised eyebrow that in her experience didn't necessarily mean she was going to reject her outright, but also didn't mean she was going to go along with it. "Since when have _you_ been one to pass up something like this?"

France frowned, and Prussia thought for a moment that she'd pushed a few wrong buttons, "What makes you think _either_ of us would be interested in such a thing?" she said haughtily, determined to ignore Prussia's comment, as she knew exactly what she was insinuating, and it would only serve to get her annoyed.

"Because why _wouldn't_ you?"

Only raised eyebrows in reply.

Prussia sighed, rolling her eyes and slamming her hands down on the table at which her two friends sat. "Because I'm bored and don't want to do my work! And I know you're the same!" she whined.

Spain chuckled, "Well, I for one don't see any harm in it."

France sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, "Fine, I have been looking for a reason to do more than just flirt with him anyway."

Prussia grinned, the kind of grin that dropped France's stomach, but that Spain just found amusing. "Okay, what're the rules then?"

"Well like you said, we would each try to seduce our..." France hesitated on the word before continuing, "Tsundere -_We spend too much time with Japon. _That means I'll seduce _mon petit Angleterre, Espangne _will seduce _son mignon petit Sud de l'Italie_, and you, dear _Prusse, _will seduce _Autriche_." France paused to think for a moment while the other two women waited for her to continue, it was best to let her make up the rules, since no one really knew what she counted as sex and what she counted as _"juste un peu d'amusement" _-to use her own words. "I think that we can only win once we've slept with them though, that means full penetration, no blowjobs, no 'handies'-" she chuckled, "Well you may, but this will only be seen as bonus, no?" she chuckled again before returning to reciting the newly formed rules. "It has to be completely consensual, and you _both _have to orgasm, does that sound reasonable?"

The two other women thought for a moment before nodding their agreement, "Yes, but I think that we should also have a rule that says we both have to be sober. I _know _that you and England have had drunken one-night-stands before." Said Spain.

France waved a hand airily, "As if I would sink that low, but I see your point, sober it is."

"What're the rules on sabotage?" asked Prussia, tapping a finger against her chin with an entirely too pleased smirk plastered on her face.

"We shouldn't sabotage I think," said Spain, furrowing her brows slightly in worry, "I think it will cause more harm than good, we'll end up fighting."

The other two women nodded their agreement, though Prussia did it with significantly less enthusiasm. She perked up again soon enough though, "What're we betting? Because personally," she smiled lazily, placing a hand on her chest, "I have an awesome idea."

France and Spain exchanged worried looks before turning back their friend who was grinning down at them, "And that is?" Spain asked warily.

"The winner has the two losers buy all of the winner's drinks for two months!" she announced, causing the other two women's eyes to bulge considerably.

"But we'll be bankrupt within a week if you win!" France protested.

Prussia smirked, "Admitting defeat already? We'll hardly be better off if you win, what with the price of the glorified grape juice you like to guzzle."

France glowered, making the smirk on Prussia's face fall if only a little, there were many things she would tolerate, insulting her wine wasn't one of them, "Just because your barbarian's tongue can't appreciate fine wine, does not mean everyone cannot. Please remind yourself that _some _of us were raised with a little class, even though _you_ seem to have been denied that privilege."

While Prussia glared at France who was now deliberately looking away from her with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed, Spain stared at them worriedly. She giggled nervously, "Now, who says either of you are going to win?" she said, in the hopes of tugging the topic away from alcohol and back to the matter at hand.

France scoffed, smiling simply at Spain, "Because I am the country of Love and not even that sour old grape _Angleterre_ is truly able to resist my womanly allure."

Prussia laughed, "You mean exactly how he has been for several centuries now?"

France waved a dismissive hand in her direction, "I haven't been trying." She replied simply, "Had I been he would have been mine within the week."

"We're talking about the same _England _right? No way you can have him within a week!"

France raised an eyebrow at her friend, her eyes half lidded with sarcasm, "And how exactly do you expect to seduce _Autriche_, it certainly can't be the charm of gentle wordplay, or the allure of the womanly form, so please enlighten us."

Prussia snorted, "I am too awesome for him to resist." She said airily.

France smirked, "Then how, pray tell, has he been doing so for centuries?" she said, mimicking Prussia's scratchy, accented voice.

They glared at each other, but were interrupted by a soft chuckle and a light, "Well it doesn't matter, because I will get my little _Romano _before either of you even get to 'first-base', as _Estados Unidos_ would say."

The two looked at their friend, smirks adorning all of their faces, "It's settled then." Prussia announced, "We begin at the next meeting."

* * *

**Traaaaanslations:**

**dumme Lesben - Stupid Lesbians (Because why not)**  
**juste un peu d'amusement - Just a little bit of fun**

**That's it for phrases I think, the country names are pretty obvious so I'm not going to bother.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Meeting

_France_

* * *

She was absolutely determined to keep the true reasons for her doubled efforts at seduction a secret from him for two reasons. The first being that if he found out the reason she was trying to sleep with him was for free booze she doubted there would be much of a chance he'd go through with it. The second was that she was curious as to whether her suspicions about him having feelings for her were correct, and she'd be damned if she'd ruin her chance to finally find out, like she'd said, she'd been looking for an excuse to do more than just flirt.

She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to arrive. As a general rule the stuffy Englishman was always one of the first to arrive, so why on today of all days had he chosen to be late? Her blood boiled a little as she watched her competition shamelessly flirt with their targets -with varying degrees of success, she would admit, but at least they were getting a start on things, she couldn't even retaliate. She just had to sit there and wait for the damn Englishmanto show his ugly face.

Then again... perhaps she could do something, even if she couldn't flirt with her target, she could still have a little fun while she waited. _And,_ if England walked in and she was flirting with someone else, perhaps that would be enough to sew the seed of jealousy, and that might just be enough to... Yes, this plan was perfect, but who to seduce?

Her eyes scanned the room, and almost instantly fell upon a target to rival all others. America. Yes, he was perfect. Not only was he England's 'precious little boy' -despite the hundreds of years of independence and his position as the worlds greatest power- meaning he was both more likely to notice and more likely to become jealous, but America himself was completely clueless, or at least he pretended to be, meaning that the chances of him reciprocating were slim. She just hoped the jealousy she incited would be over her and not America, but any jealousy is good jealousy, she reminded herself.

With a carefully calculated expression that laid somewhere between nonchalance and amusement, she made her way over to the overly-enthusiastic blonde, who was currently very physically explaining something to Canada, who looked as always politely interested, but to anyone other than America, like he would much rather be somewhere else. Well look at that, not only was she going to make England a jealous wreak, she was going to do Canada a service by taking America out of his hands, this whole plan was going better than expected.

She touched America's shoulder lightly, sliding her hands over his chest as she sank down so her chin rested on it, "_Bonjour Amérique," _she said silkily, then turned to his twin, "_Canada, est-ce que ça va?_"

Canada smiled a relieved sort of smile, "_Oui, maman, il est juste un peu bruyant, et il m'a donné un mal de tête."_

France smiled reassuringly as America grumbled something about not having a clue what they were saying. _"Va, je vais le distraire." _She chuckled, motioning with her head for him to make his escape.

"_Merci beaucoup!" _He said, getting up and smiling first at France, then at America, "I'll let you guys talk." He said, waving America a quick goodbye, "I'll see you at the break, okay Al?"

America looked a little put out but replied with a cheerful, "'Kay, see ya later bro." As Canada took his leave.

He turned to France warily, but before he could say anything, France interrupted him, "Ah, _Amérique, _How are you, _mon cher?" _she cooed lightly, running her finger over his delightfully well-toned chest, how he managed to eat like he did and remain in a state of fitness that not even she could call fat was beyond her, perhaps she should ask him.

"I'm... well...?" America replied slowly, ignoring the wandering hands, but still wary of the Romance nation's intent.

France sighed, "How do you maintain such well defined Abs?" she asked musingly, absentmindedly tracing a finger over the grooves and around his navel through his shirt.

America stammered over the answer of a moment, a light glow coming to his cheeks which had France smirking slightly, though it didn't take him long to compose himself, a self-congratulatory grin spreading across his face, "Well actually..."

France took that as a queue to tune him out, simply nodding in interest when appropriate, focusing most of her attention on running her fingers over the young superpower's muscles. She bit her lip, no wonder he could lift cars. If nothing else good came of this at least she'd gotten a chance to feel up the young nation, a rare privilege.

There was a small part of her that wondered where England had gotten to, though admittedly it was pushed to the back of her mind, she thought perhaps she should try to call him, he was holding up the meeting after all. Personally she felt that the rule preventing them from beginning before all attending nations were present was rather stupid, but then again it wasn't often that she was the one holding them up, she'd probably feel differently had it been otherwise.

America's ramblings were cut short by an exhausted-looking England who as good as fell through the door. "Sorry I'm late." He sighed, leaning heavily on the door.

France instantly let go of America, hurrying over to his side. "_Angleterre!_" she fussed, pressing a hand to his forehead, "Are you alright, _mon amour?_"

His horrendous brows furrowed -oh how she wished he'd let her pluck them- and he swatted her hand away, pushing himself up and toward his usual seat, "I'm fine." He snapped, "Certainly not in need of your help at any rate."

"But you look horrible!" she said, walking after him, by now having caught the attention of most of the room.

"She's right dude, you're not lookin' so hot." Said America.

England stopped mid stride to smile what looked like a painful smile -that in truth was more akin to a grimace- in America's general direction, "I thank you for your input, _America_." He said in a sickly sweet and ever so slightly patronizing tone -that in France's experience only meant that the next person to cross him was going to lose a finger... or a hand... or a whole arm- "We all appreciate it, but if you would kindly _belt up_ then that would absolutely _brilliant_, thanks." He let the smile drop then as he closed the gap between him and the chair and as good as fell into it, fingers rubbing at his temples.

France took the seat beside him, and reached for his forehead again, not even getting close before her hand was once again slapped away. "I'm just trying to help_-_"

"I already told you," he snapped, his eyes closed as if it physically hurt to keep them open, "I don't need _your_ help, _you thick tart_."

France let out a deep sigh, "It would do you well to let someone in once in a while," she huffed, frowning at him, "Perhaps when you _do _need my help I won't be there to give it."

"Well it's a good thing that time is never coming." He replied tersely.

She turned away from him, resigned to the fact that today -or at least _right now_\- was not the best time to begin her impossible seduction. Just her luck that as soon as she started actively pursuing him he would come down with some kind of political scandal or economical difficulty, and she had begun with such high hopes. Now her competition not only had the lead, but an advantage as well. It was going to be a herculean task to seduce a sick or burnt out England, but she was not going to give up yet, not until her pocket was empty because she'd been forced to purchase gallons of over-priced beer or sangria, no way. She was the country of love, and thus there was no way that even this difficult, tactless man, even like this, was beyond her.

He'd come around. There was no doubt in her mind.

* * *

_Canada_

* * *

It didn't take Canada an awful lot of time to figure out the reason for his former care-taker's distress as she sent worried glances constantly at the door.

"Hey, America?" Canada asked, making the nation at his side almost jump out of his skin.

"Jesus Canada!" he said, slumping forward and clutching at his chest in an overly melodramatic display that had Canada rolling his eyes, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

Canada's face went flat, "I've been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes." He said dryly.

"Oh," America said, and Canada supposed he should be grateful that he at least had the decency to look sheepish, "Sorry dude. What did you want?"

"It's nothing... really- I uh..." he said, suddenly hesitating, having lost all confidence he'd previously had.

"C'mon man, spit it out." America urged.

"I-I've just been noticing recently that... w-well England and France h-ave been-"

"You wanna play matchmaker for Iggy and Frogface?" He asked slowly, though Canada had known America for long enough that he could easily hear the eagerness in his younger brother's voice.

Canada nodded, burying his face a little in Kumajuma in his lap sheepishly. He wasn't surprised that he'd figured it out, for all his idiocy he was as powerful as he was for a reason, and he wasn't anywhere near as dumb as many thought him to be, just a little (Read: extremely, but Canada really is too polite for his own good) airheaded sometimes (Read: most of the time), and only used his brain when he saw necessary (Read: not often).

"Awesome!" he cheered, "I've been looking for an accomplice!"

Canada frowned, confused, "What're yo-"

"I've wanted to get that limey bastard laid for years." He continued without acknowledging that Canada had even spoken, "I keep thinking that if he got some action he wouldn't have such a stick up his ass all the time, and y'know..."

It was at this point that Canada tuned him out, suddenly not so certain he wanted to plan to get his two parental figures together. He didn't know America would have _that _reaction, but what he did know was that his brother's babbling wasn't going to get them anywhere, and he certainly wasn't going to be the one to shut the damned idiot up. He needed time to think up a plan of action at the very least, and America's voice had the nasty habit of giving him a headache if he listened to it for too long.

It wasn't a surprise when France came to his rescue, and he certainly wasn't going to miss the opportunity to escape.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

Spain personally thought it was rather a shame, about her little Romano. He was extremely attractive, ever since he'd grown out of his chubby-faced childhood, his face had sharpened and slimmed in all the right ways and she was convinced he knew it -even if he told her otherwise. He was also an extremely good flirt, and, when he was trying, he was absolutely irresistible and she loved watching him turn on all of that Italian charm.

He would find something to lean on so that he could be at eye level with whatever beautiful woman he had struck up a conversation with without actually bending. He would then pull out the full Italian charm, the lidded eyes, the easy smirks and chuckles -that never penetrated their conversations normally- he would listen when necessary, talk right on cue with exactly the right words to make her swoon. Then he would touch her, his fingers trailing down her face to rest on her chin, tilting her chin ever so slightly upwards, leaning closer until their breaths mingled and their eyes fluttered shut and...

"_Spagna_!"

Wait... What was she doing?

"Are you even listening?"

Oh yes, she was trying to get that beautiful Italian charm to surface.

"Sorry Roma," she chuckled, meeting the narrowed eyes of her old charge. He was equally attractive when he was angry, if only because of the subtle flush of his cheeks that was just a little too cute for its own good, "My mind started to wander."

He furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing further and his hands folding stubbornly across his chest as he slumped back in his chair, "I know you're an air-head, but can you tell me when you don't care what I'm saying so I don't waste my time?"

She panicked for a moment, she'd said the wrong thing and made him angry again, but she could fix this, she was the country of passion, and surely she was able to spark some in Romano that wasn't just irritation or embarrassment, "That's not what I meant _Romano_." she said, softly smiling, and rolling out his name _just _so. She leant forward, reaching out to touch his knee, fluttering her eyelashes as she had practiced so many times before, "And anyway, it was wandering about you."

He frowned, but it was a different kind of frown now, the confused kind, and he looked up at her with narrowed eyes, but again, they weren't angry, they were confused. "What does that mean?"

"It means you were too distracting, I couldn't help my mind going off to... _other places_..." She decided that relative subtlety would be a good way to go, she needed to ease him into the idea, rather than just pushing him in at the deep end. Something she'd learned when raising him was that it was far easier to find a way to trick him into doing something than to ask him outright and argue with him about it, because at the end of the argument he will have won, no matter how valid her point may have been. No, she couldn't just jump him with it, that would almost certainly scare him off.

His face retained the look of confusion, though it settled slightly further back toward his almost permanent expression of mild-to-severe irritation, "Well it doesn't matter where it was wandering, you still were wasting my time." He grumbled, turning away slightly.

Spain sighed, perhaps she was being _too_ subtle. Or perhaps Romano was being deliberately difficult. Or maybe he was just completely clueless.

Just as Spain was about to begin a new assault of slightly less subtle flirtation, they were interrupted by an infinitely more bubbly Italian. "_Fratello, Romano, Che stai facendo?_" he chirped in Italian that Spain could but didn't feel like translating, it was probably something trivial.

"I'm talking to this idiot, what does it look like I'm doing, _Veneziano_?" Romano replied haughtily.

"Well, _Germania _and I were wondering if you and _Spagna _would like to join us for a meal and dancing tonight?" he asked cheerfully, kneeling at Romano's side.

"What makes you think I want to go anywhere with that_ figlio di puttana_?"

Veneziano narrowed his eyes, "What has _Germania _ever done to you?" he asked in a surprisingly serious tone Spain wasn't sure she'd ever heard from the Italian before, "All I was asking was if you would like to join us for dinner and to go out for dancing, I know how you love dancing with _Spagna_, I'll cook if you're worried about the food being wrong."

Romano's face went red for a moment, before he composed himself with a small shake of his head, and scoffed, "Not that I can eat while I have to look at that po-"

"We'd love to." Spain interjected, cutting off Romano's incoming insult with a hand to his shoulder, and ignoring the glare he sent her way. This was perfect! Veneziano just as good as set them up a date without her having to do anything, she wasn't going to let Romano ruin this opportunity, "It's been a while since I had home-made Italian, Roma always refuses to cook for me."

"_Don't say that, you make me sound like a lazy asshole_." Romano grumbled, just loud enough so that only Veneziano and Spain could hear him.

Spain chuckled, "What time should we be there?"

Veneziano had perked up again now, with the promise of company and Romano quieted for the time being, "I'll have dinner ready for six," he smiled, getting up from his spot on the floor, "You can arrive at my place any time before then, and afterwards we'll go dancing."

"That sounds _absolutamente perfecto_!" Spain grinned, "I'll have him ready and presentable by then."

"_You'll _have _me _ready and presentable?" Romano scoffed, "It's _me_ having to fix _your_ clothes half the time, woman!" he rolled his eyes, "Honestly, if I let you dress yourself you'd be a laughing stock."

"In case you don't remember, I got by just fine before you came around." Spain replied cheerfully, waving to Veneziano as he returned to Germany presumably to tell him the news.

"_Got by_." Romano replied with what sounded like distain, "Sure you got by, but you looked absolutely ridiculous."

"I was a warrior, 'Mano, I didn't need to look stylish."

Before Romano could reply, their conversation was cut short by England swinging the door open rather loudly. He looked awful, perhaps not as bad as she'd seen him before -and she often likes to brag that she'd made him that way- but bad enough that it was cause for worry, or perhaps celebration in her case since it mean that France would have an even harder time getting through to him now. Her chances of winning this bet were seeming better by the moment, and quite honestly, the prizes were pretty amazing, not only would she finally get her lovely Romano all to herself, but she would also get all the free booze her heart desired, she couldn't see a way this could go wrong. Well, if Prussia won then she'd be in an even deeper financial hole than she was already, but she preferred not to think about that lest she end up spiralling into depression.

Things were looking up.

* * *

_Veneziano_

* * *

Veneziano, for everyone's claims that he's an airhead that can't concentrate on anything for more time than it took to blink, didn't find it hard to notice the longing glances Spain was throwing at his brother, that of course the jerk was missing.

He frowned in the direction of Spain and his brother, having long since lost interest in whatever Germany and Japan were discussing. He knew for a fact Romano adored his former boss, and no, he wasn't exaggerating. It wasn't so much that he was overly fond of confiding his feelings with his younger brother, it was that Veneziano was actually rather good at reading his older brother after all these years, and he was showing all the signs. Spain almost certainly hadn't noticed, she was doubtless pining after him hopelessly too. Well, considering the way she was batting her lashes at Romano and not just plain old dating the jerk already, there was really no 'probably' about it.

He took a moment to watch them before deciding on a plan of action.

"_Germania_?" he asked, absentmindedly pulling on the man's sleeve to gain his attention.

He stopped talking abruptly, turning to Veneziano with a short, "What is it?"

"Can I invite Romano and _Spagna_ to dinner and dancing with us tonight?"

Germany frowned, as if that were the last thing he expected the Italian to say, "_Ja, _I don't see why not."

Veneziano grinned and flitted over to the pair, a plan already formulating its' way into his head.

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

This was going to be like taking candy from the proverbial baby -or the literal pianist, she supposed. There was no way that Austria would be able to resist her, it was a complete impossibly. It was so certain that she wasn't going to consider the alternatives. The fact that she'd taken the time to shower thoroughly -even shaving her legs unnecessarily- make sure her hair was brushed all the way to the tips, make sure her skirt was hiked up just a little further than usual -so as to expose those freshly shaven beauties- and her makeup just a little better done than usual, was all completely coincidental, and certainly wasn't anything to do with the fact she was a little nervous. No, the awesome Prussia didn't get nervous. She had conquered Austria before and she would do it again, and this time that irritating, frying pan wielding, man-woman, Hungary wasn't going to get in the way.

"Hey _Österreich_, how about you and the awesome me hang after this meeting?"

Haha! He would be as good as hers before you could say-

"No thank you."

Wait, did he just...?

"What was that?"

He can't have...

"I _said _'No thank you', or do you need to hear it in another language?"

Okay, this was just a minor setback.

"Ha! What's wrong specs? Afraid that the awesome me will be too much for you?"

That should steer this conversation the right way.

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow at her over his glasses, "For one thing, don't call me 'specs', and for another what makes you think that I would _want _to spend time with '_the awesome you'_?"

Prussia laughed at that, he couldn't be serious, could he? "Who _wouldn't _want to spend time with me?"

Austria stared at her blankly for a moment, though if you looked close enough you could clearly see the distain behind the look, "Oh, you _are _being serious, I suppose I should dignify that with an answer then," he took off his glasses, regarded them with a thoughtful look for a moment before replacing them on his nose and focusing his eyes back on Prussia, who was looking at him with confusion. "_Preußen_, I don't mean to dump the harsh truth on you so late in your life, but I'm afraid the only ones who _want_ to hang out with you are your idiot friends, why don't you do something with them instead of bothering me?"

"Because they're both busy tonight!" she lied. In truth, she wasn't sure if they were or not, but she wasn't going to willingly admit that the only people that could get her out of his hair were completely able to. "And West is going out with _Italien_ tonight, and I _do not _want to be in the house when or if they get home!"

Yes, a sob story should hit all the right places. Perhaps now-

"I don't see how that's my problem."

_Verdammt noch mal! _Why was he being so difficult?

Prussia narrowed her eyes, her brows knitting together determinedly, "It's your problem because I'm bothering you about it, so you can either moan like _eine kleine Hündin _or you can suck it up and we can have an awesome time." She said, crossing her arms over her chest with a smirk, "I'll even bring beer, the good stuff! The kind West hides from me."

Austria sighed the sigh of a man who has had to deal with this for _far _too many centuries, pushing his glasses up his nose and closing his eyes, "So what you're saying is that even if I say no, you'll pester me until I say yes." He said matter-of-factly.

"_Ja_! That is exactly what I'm saying!" Prussia could feel him wearing down, it wouldn't be long now until the inevitable happened.

Austria let out another long-suffering sigh, muttering "_Grundgütiger, wie kann Deutschland es jeden Tag mit der aushalten?_" under his breath -presumably forgetting that Prussia spoke German as well- before looking at her wearily and saying, "Fine, you can come to my place," Prussia grinned, "But you better bring the beer!" he lowered his voice again, tuning away from Prussia but not caring enough to be sure she wouldn't hear, "_Gott weiß, ich werde es brauchen._"

Prussia grinned wider, "Ha! I knew you'd come around!" Never mind that she'd had to as good as blackmail him, that wasn't important. What _was _important was the fact that she now had what Austria didn't know was a date, and with enough beer and... wait, _Scheiße_, they had to be sober. Oh well, that could wait for another night, nothing like a little drunken sex as the icebreaker for more, less drunken, sex.

"I'm going to regret this."

"No way! We're gonna have so much fun that even your old, patched-up pants will get unbunched!" She slapped him on the back with a laugh, dislodging his glasses so they balanced perilously on the end of his nose.

He frowned, fixing his glasses, "I don't doubt it." He said sarcastically.

Prussia smirked self-satisfactorily, taking this chance to check up on her competition. Spain seemed to be in a conversation with Italy, smiling cheerfully, though Romano looked anything but pleased, she took this as a good sign. France, on the other hand, seemed to be feeling up America, which didn't really surprise her considering that her little target was the whole reason the meeting was being held up in the first place, she also took this as a good sign. Yes, she was in the fast lane to as much free beer and Austrian ass as she wanted, the others didn't stand a chance.

* * *

_Hungary_

* * *

Hungary didn't miss the hurt and crestfallen looks Prussia gave her ex-husband when he gave her the cold-shoulder.

It was almost infuriating, watching Prussia try to flirt, and not only because it was Austria. It was more that the former nation was entirely hopeless at it. _She was always more of a fighter than a lover,_ Hungary thought, she had witnessed that firsthand, though she couldn't exactly understand why she was trying to employ such tactics at a time like this. _Blackmail? Really Poroszország?_

She briefly considered helping her, simply out of pity, because it really was a sorry sight to watch. She then decided that she'd just watch for a while, see how it played out, it would certainly be interesting at least. And anyway, she could always step in if she _really _needed to.

"What're you looking at?" asked a voice from beside her.

She hardly reacted, recognizing the voice as Poland's after the first syllable, "Watching _Poroszország _attempt to flirt with _Ausztria_." She replied absentmindedly, pursing her lips at the two of them.

Poland sat down beside her, "Oh, and how's that going for her?" he asked with a light chuckle.

"Exactly how you'd expect it to go." She said, finally turning to meet Poland's raised eyebrow and amused smirk, "What?"

Poland laughed a little, "You're going to follow them."

Hungary rolled her eyes, "You can join me if you want, I get the feeling it will be rather amusing."

He seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding, "Why not, I don't have any plans tonight."

Hungary laughed a little, "Bring your phone, we might be staking out for a while."

Poland waved a dismissive hand at her, "Don't act like this is my first rodeo," he said, mirth tickling at his tone, "I know the drill."

Hungary smiled, well at least she wouldn't have to sit out in the cold alone now.

* * *

**Translation time (Let's see if I can find them all...)**

**(French)**  
**Canada, est-ce que ça va? - Canada, are you alright?**  
**Oui, maman, il est juste un peu bruyant, et il m'a donné un mal de tête. - Yes, Mama, he's just a little loud and I have a headache.**  
**Va, je vais le distraire. - Go, I'll distract him.**

**(Italian)**  
**Fratello, Romano, Che stai facendo? - Brother, Romano, What're you doing?**  
**figlio di puttana - son of a bitch**

**(German)**  
**Verdammt noch mal! - Damn you!**  
**Grundgütiger, wie kann Deutschland es jeden Tag mit der aushalten? - Good Lord, how does Germany deal with this every day?**  
**Gott weiß, ich werde es brauchen. - God knows, I'll need it.**

**That's it, feel free to correct me on any grammar that is awful, I won't take it to heart!**  
**(Thank you so much to ChaosSasori for correcting some of the German, and a guest reviewer for correcting the French from this chapter!)**


	3. Chapter 2: The Meeting (Cont)

_France_

As the meeting went on she could see England physically straining to stay awake. His eyes drooped perilously low and had a grimace on his features as if he were having some blunt instrument repeatedly jammed into his skull.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep in a meeting, but like today, he was usually too proud to let that happen. She regarded him almost tenderly as he blankly gazed in the vague direction of the speaker, she hated it when he was like this, not only because he was no fun to bicker with, but because despite all their pretences, she was rather fond of the callous island nation.

She leant over to him, touching his shoulder lightly and making him flinch away with a practiced glare. He looked up at her warily for a moment, as she pressed a finger to his lips, "Sh," she hushed, "My dear_, _you look exhausted, rest for a while and I will lend you my notes after the meeting."

He continued to regard her with suspicion for a moment, before apparently deciding that the call of sleep was louder than his pride, and he laid his head down in his arms. His body remained relatively stiff for a moment before it relaxed with a soft exhale and she knew he had fallen asleep. He must have been exhausted, she mused for a moment, regarding his sleeping face almost affectionately. In her experience it took him a long time to fall asleep, with enough tossing and turning to capsize a small armada... perhaps that was how he a _really _defeated the Spaniards- so she didn't really find it all that surprising that he often slept alone, even when he _did _have a lover. It was a good thing he didn't snore, or that would have just been the cherry on the proverbial cake.

She looked back up to the front, she needed to make some notes or he would get annoyed with her, and that was the last thing she needed. So that's what she did for the rest of the meeting, took notes, better than she would usually if only because she was looking out for things that would interest the Brit as well as herself. That, and gave the occasional warning glare as one of the other nations noticed the sleeping man at her side.

The meeting wrapped up, and the rest of the nations all began packing away their things, drifting in the usual groups to discuss either the meeting or anything but. She turned to the still sleeping England, brushing some of his hair from his face, and shaking his shoulder lightly, "_Angleterre, mon ami, réveille-toi._" She cooed softly into his ear.

He groaned softly and far too endearingly, "No, Tinkerbell, five minutes, the pixies can wait." He grumbled, turning his face away.

France barely held in a laugh, biting her lip as she gently shook his shoulder again, "The meeting is over, you have to wake up."

He turned his face forward again, prying open his sleep-sealed eyes, the green lenses still clouded and drowsy. He slowly took in his surroundings with a sort of confused look, as if he wasn't entirely sure where he was. "_Angleterre,_" France cooed soothingly, once again brushing his unruly hair from his face. His eyes turned to her, and after a quick flash of recognition he straightened up and stretched, a few audible pops coming from his back as he did. "Are you feeling better now?"

He sighed softly, running a hand through his hair, "A little, thank you, France."

"It's perfectly alright, you could barely keep your eyes open." She replied nonchalantly, sliding her notes over toward him. "Here," she said, "So your boss doesn't give you an even harder time."

England took the paper, giving her the closest thing to a genuine smile as France had ever seen him give her, "Thank you again, I owe you." She knew exactly how hard it would have been for him to say that, not only the repeated thanks, but the admittance that he had allowed someone else to do something for him.

"There is no need." France replied with an idle wave of her hand, "Though if you insist on repaying the favour, you might accompany me back to Paris for a few nights and let off some much needed steam."

"I hope you don't mean-" England began, his usual scowl reforming on his face.

"We won't have sex if you don't want to." She replied coolly, "I just wish for company, and it would be nice for it to be yours for a change, we hardly see each other anymore, _mon petit lapin_." She chanced a look at England who looked to be halfway between refusing outright and accepting with some kind of excuse to make it seem as if he didn't really want to be there.

"No, I don't want to." He began stiffly, "And don't you think the reason we don't see each other is because we don't terribly enjoy each other's company?"

France chuckled to herself, "Keep denying, my dear_, _and we will be here all night." She stood, looking down at him and offering her hand, "So do you accept, or will I be wandering my heart alone this evening?"

The Brit frowned even deeper, the tiniest of blushes tinting his cheeks, "Don't say it like that, you bloody, romantic twit!" he hissed, "You make it sound like a date!"

France sighed heavily, "So like _un Britannique_ to completely ruin any sense of romance." She huffed, "You're so repressed and stiff that even the mention of it makes you jumpy."

"I am not!" he protested, "You're just ridiculously extravagant! I can be perfectly romantic given the opportunity."

France gave a very unladylike snort at the suggestion, "_Oui_," she laughed lightly, "_Et mon cul c'est du poulet_."

"Hey, don't laugh at me you sappy tart!" he growled.

She bit her lip to hold in more laughter, pressing a finger to England's disdainful lips, "Who's laughing?" she asked coolly, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned into a small smirk, "Go home and tell your boss you're going to be taking a few day's leave, then come straight to my house, the door will be unlocked as always, just let yourself in." She stood straight, turning to take her leave, leaving a rather flabbergasted Englishman in her wake. "_Au revoir, Angleterre, à bientôt!_"

That had gone ridiculously well, she mused as she pushed out of the door and into the hallway. Once she was out of the door a ridiculous sense of glee rocked through her. She had just managed to set herself up an entire weekend with which to woo the man. This was perfect.

She pulled out her phone, grinning smugly to herself, and typed:

_A whole weekend alone with mon petit, anything could happen... ;)_

She locked it and slipped it back in her pocket, that should get the girls panicking.

* * *

_Spain_

Spain found her thoughts wandering again as she followed Romano and Belgium out of the hall. It wasn't so much that she didn't care about what the other nations were saying, it was just that she was more interested in the mental images she was conjuring of the night ahead. Dinner would be interesting, she was sure, but all she had to do was keep Romano from insulting Germany too badly and it should go alright and as soon as they started dancing he wouldn't have to look at them anyway. It was afterwards she was looking forward to, that was, assuming she could talk Romano into returning to her place. It wouldn't be a problem usually, since he spent most nights at her place anyway, but it wouldn't surprise her if her slept at Veneziano's place just to prevent him and Germany from doing anything. He was too protective of his little brother. Or perhaps he just disliked Germany specifically...

No, she was pretty sure it was both.

The question is, should she ask him about it now, or later?

She didn't have too much time to dwell on it, as her phone buzzed in her pocket.

_A whole weekend alone with mon petit, anything could happen... ;)_

What? How had France managed that already? And with England in the state he was too? She needed to up her game. Nevertheless, she typed out a quick reply.

_I have a date with mi Romano tonight, you have to try harder than that! :P_

She tucked her phone back away, satisfied that she'd caused suitable panic.

"Why are you telling _Frankrijk_ that?" asked the tall man that had rather suddenly appeared at her side, making her jump at the sudden noise and accusation.

"Oh! Aha!" She laughed nervously, surprised at the civility of his tone that instantly had warning lights going off in her head, glancing at Romano to make sure he wasn't listening in, "Países Bajos! You shouldn't look at people's private messages, should you?"

He shrugged, purposely avoiding eye contact with her, "Maybe not, but you also shouldn't be lying about being able to get a date with Romano." He said nonchalantly.

"Well, now-" she continued defensively.

He held up a hand, "It's not my business what you tell your friends, but if Romano finds out you've been lying about that he isn't going to be best pleased."

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed again.

_ Good luck, mon amie, you're going to need it. ;)_

She frowned at the device, shoving it back in her pocket. Damn it, she could practically see the smug look on France's face.

Netherlands placed a hand on her shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face, "You care for him, _ja_?"

Spain nodded.

"Then don't go screwing it up because of _Frankrijk._"

"I-I... Uh..." Spain began dumbly, but Netherlands was already gone, dragging his sister from her conversation with Romano, and sparing Spain a quick glance before the two disappeared and Romano returned to her side.

Romano had a contemplative scowl on his face, "I'm never sure if I like _Paesi Bassi _or not." He said, pressing a finger to his lips, shapely and moist. She wondered idly what those lips would feel like against her own, as they met in a sweet embrace. Oh, and she was sure it would be sweet. He would taste of wine and tomatoes, a hint of sugar from the gelato he would never admit to loving, warmth from the Italian sun and a hint of salt from the Mediterranean sea that you never got from land-locked countries.

Spain chuckled, "Do you like _anyone_ Roma?" she asked teasingly, "Or do you just put up with them?"

Romano looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be insulted or not, his expression not quite soft, but not quite hard either. Eventually he seemed to settle on just scowling, a tiny blush coming to his cheeks, and saying, "That's not true, _idiota_."

"That you like people, or that you just put up with them?" Spain asked, a look of false innocence on her face. She knew she shouldn't rile him up, but he was just far too cute when he was flustered.

"You already know that!" he snapped in reply, his face going a little darker red, "Don't act dumb, it doesn't work on me!" Spain giggled, biting her lip to hold it in as she regarded the slowly darkening hue of Romano's face. He noticed her looking at him and turned away to hide his face, "And don't look at me like that, damn it! It's weird!"

She laughed again, leaning around him and pinching his cheek lightly, "Aw, don't be like that Roma! You're just so cute I can't help it!"

"And I'm not cute either." He grumbled, but made no move to remove her squeezing fingers.

Spain just laughed again, "Don't be silly, of course you are!"

At that Romano growled in frustration, speeding up his pace to reach the outside, and their shared car faster. Spain chuckled. Her Romano was truly far too cute.

As she trotted after him, out of the front doors and into the car-park, chaotic and busy due to the large number of nations who were all eager to get home, her phone buzzed again. It was Prussia.

_How did Frankreich already get a date? I thought eyebrows was supposed to be in a bad mood, he's practically a ray of sunshine now!_

Before she could reply another message chimed in.

_In other news, I got a date._

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Spain wondered if either of them really had dates, or if like her they were bending the situation into something that _could _be considered a date but in reality, to the other person, it was little more than casually spending time together.

_How's business on your end? Pulled the stick out of Italien's ass yet?_

Spain furrowed her brows. Deciding she wasn't going to dignify that with a response, she tucked her phone back in her pocket. She trotted past Romano, plucking the car keys from his hand.

"Hey!" he protested as Spain made her way to the driver's side, "I thought I was driving!"

Spain chuckled, "You might not be as bad at driving as your brother, but I'm still better, and I would quite like to make it to our dinner with him this evening alive." She sent him a cheeky smile, opening the door and slipping inside the car.

Predictably, that sent Romano off ranting, and Spain was sure she would have to spend a drive home listening to it. Not that she particularly minded. No, she didn't really mind at all.

* * *

_Prussia_

After the meeting, Prussia hung back for a moment, letting Austria take his leave -there would be time for talking to him later, and anyway, she didn't want to accidentally piss him off and end up getting herself uninvited- and watching her competition idly. Spain had left almost immediately, following Romano, so they didn't offer much entertainment to watch. France and England offered a little more though. England had fallen asleep, and Prussia watched as France gently shook him awake, giggling at him when he mumbled in his sleep. She wondered idly if Austria did that, then chuckled to herself, knowing Austria he probably hummed Beethoven's fifth symphony.

She watched as they conversed for a moment, although she couldn't hear what they were saying, noting how they spoke and moved. It was an old habit, born of war and necessity, though in actual fact she didn't need it anymore. As they say, old habits die hard. She'd never quite been able to crack those two. Never been able to tell whether they liked or disliked each other, though in reality it was probably some kind of sick mixture of the two that they separated and utilized when it suited them.

She frowned at them, as France laughed at him, leaning down and pressing a finger to his lips, before -with the irritating flutter of lashes that was, even to her, ridiculously attractive and that Prussia was sure she didn't even realize she was doing- whispering something she had even less chance of hearing. She was caught somewhere between annoyance and confusion, what was with those two?

She turned and made for the door, smiling back at him and waving lightly, "_Au revoir, Angleterre, à bientôt!_" she called, and then she was gone.

England looked even more confused than Prussia felt, and she found herself giggling at the slightly dumbfounded expression France had left him with.

Prussia's phone chimed quietly, muffled by her pocket. She muttered a quick prayer to thank whatever god bothered to listen that no one had tried to call her during the meeting lest she have to face her brother's wrath, she really needed to remember to turn the sound off. Nevertheless, the tugged it from her pocket.

_A whole weekend alone with mon petit, anything could happen... ;)_

Ah, so that's what they'd been talking about. She took another glance at England, he seemed to have composed himself, and was hurriedly gathering his things, his phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear. His phone call seemed rather heated, with any luck, that was his boss preventing their lovely weekend alone.

_I'd wish you good luck, but I really want you to crash and burn._

That would do. She didn't bother reading France's reply, it was either an innuendo or sarcastic well-wishes, neither of which she wanted to hear.

The room swiftly emptied around her, until only the dregs were left. Her brows furrowed, herself stuck in thoughts about everything from the bet and Austria, to if Julchick would be alright without her tonight.

She was roused by a hand on her shoulder, a familiar, slight man frowning at her, "Are you alright? You look like someone just tried to murder that chick thing you're so fond of..." England asked.

Prussia laughed him off, "Nah, if someone tried to kill Julchick I wouldn't just sulk about it, I'd rip out their spine."

England raised a bemused eyebrow, "Remind me not to threaten your bird then."

Prussia laughed, "What got you so energized? You looked like you were going to murder the entire population of Europe and then collapse from exhaustion when you walked in."

England chuckled, running a hand tiredly through his already messy hair, "Heh, yes, my boss has just been working me to the bone is all, I didn't get any sleep last night but I caught forty winks during the meeting so I'm feeling a little more chipper now."

Prussia smirked easily, almost mischievously, "I'll tell West." She joked, standing and motioning for England to follow her out, "It's about time someone else got chewed out for falling asleep during meetings."

England snorted, "It's not the same when you fall asleep _every single _meeting, _Prussia_. And don't try to tell me you don't, because you do."

Prussia waved a hand dismissively, "You're such a buzz-kill." She said simply, "The awesome me shouldn't have to come to these meetings anyway, West just makes me because he wants _'Deutschland' _to have twice the representation."

England raised an eyebrow, "Well, the _United Kingdom_ _could _have four times the representation, but I have the good sense to leave my siblings at home."

Prussia frowned teasingly, "Are you comparing me to _Schottland_?"

"Older sibling who is loud, irresponsible, crass, drinks too much... no, you two aren't alike at all."

The two laughed a little, "Says the man who starts crying after his third glass of whiskey."

England snorted, "Says the woman who ran through the streets of Berlin wearing only a German flag and yelling for people to, and I quote, '_Bring on the wurst'._"

"The man who stripped himself naked, hid in a wardrobe, and when someone tried to get him out yelled, _'I'm Aslan'_ then passed out."

"The woman who, on Christmas eve, broke into a shop, stole a six-foot Christmas tree, and upon getting it home, proceeded to decorate it with various pieces of her underwear." England stifled a laugh, "Dear god, I would have loved to see _Germany's_ face _that _Christmas morning."

Prussia guffawed, "It was the funniest thing I'd ever seen..." she paused, "Or it would have been if I hadn't been hung-over, and he hadn't been shouting."

England once again stifled a laugh through his hand, "I can imagine."

His phone rang, the sound of his national anthem echoing through the hallway, and he stopped in his tracks, pulling it out to look at the caller ID. He frowned, then looked up at Prussia apologetically, "I'm sorry, Prussia, I have to take this."

"It's alright, _Auf Wiedersehen_!" she said, waving happily to him as he turned the other way and she continued on her way.

Now, she thought, was the perfect time to text France and Spain.

To France she sent:

_Get him drunk. I want more drunk England stories._

And to Spain:

_How did Frankreich already get a date? I thought eyebrows was supposed to be in a bad mood, he's practically a ray of sunshine now!_

Then seemed to remember their bet, and with a smug kind of smile, to both of them sent:

_In other news, I got a date._

And finally, with a small chuckle, to Spain sent:

_How's business on your end? Pulled the stick out of Italien's ass yet?_

She didn't expect them to reply, nor did she really want them to. She continued to laugh to herself as she walked down the hall, she was funny, she really was, it was ridiculous really that other people couldn't see it.

She smirked, exiting into the now mostly empty car park, "Look out _Österreich_," she muttered, "The awesome me is coming."

* * *

**Translations and all that jazz.**

**I think there is only French in this one:**  
**Angleterre, mon ami, réveille-toi. - England, my friend, wake up.**  
**Oui, et mon cul c'est du poulet. - Yes, and my ass is made of chicken. (I like strange colloquialisms)**


	4. Chapter 3: The Evening

**I know these haven't been coming out fast, but TBH they're probably going to get even slower, because one, I suck at writing anything for extended periods of time, and two, I have school again, yay...**

**Whatever, you don't care about me, you just want the story, so here ya go.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

_France_

* * *

She wasn't sure what she was expecting really. She certainly wasn't expecting sex on the first night, no, England was far too stuffy for that. As big an old pervert as he may be -though he will deny it to the end of the earth- and though he is _certainly not_ shy in the bedroom -or at least not on their few drunken escapades through the centuries- he wasn't going to be easy to seduce.

At best he would brush off any and all attempts to initiate things, and at worst he would get flustered, then angry, then he would leave, and all of her efforts would be wasted. She had decided on subtle flirtation and small acts of romance for the Brit, as anything more extravagant was going to scare him away.

She sighed, plucking her wine glass from the table she was sitting at and swirling the red liquid around the glass pensively... How could the man be so scared of his emotions? Even his previous relationships hadn't any passion -or at least none that she'd bore witness to- and she seriously doubted he'd slept with anyone for anything other than to settle a deal or for simple pleasure -although pure spite could probably be added to the list.

She frowned in thought, Prussia used to be in a relationship with the man for a short time, perhaps if she weren't sure she would either refuse her or sabotage her, she would ask the former nation for some advice on how to deal with him... Then she laughed to herself. The very thought of her, France, _the country of love_, asking advice on love from _Prussia _of all people, was more ridiculous than thinking said ex-nation had any sense of shame -in fact she was about as shameless in the bedroom as the Englishman, if not more so.

She vaguely recalled a night with Prussia, and now that she thought about it, it really wasn't all that long ago at all. Prussia was drunk -but then again when was she not during her free time, of which she had plenty- France not quite so much, though still enough that she had no qualms about sleeping with her friend of many centuries. Prussia's vociferousness definitely made it to the bedroom, she had no problems letting you know exactly when you'd hit the right spot, every touch, every open-mouthed kiss, bruising suck, and indent of teeth eliciting a response. France liked a responsive partner, she liked to know when they felt good and when they wanted more. She liked it when they liked it, and nothing showed they liked it more than wanton sighs, whimpers, and moans from starved lungs and swollen, parted lips. Perhaps she was a hypocrite, being rather quiet herself for the most part, but she liked to hear her partner, and how could she very well do that if she was drowning them out with her own noise?

She rather suddenly noticed a small trail of drool running from the corner of her mouth, and wiped it away with a light chuckle at herself. She needed to stop letting her imagination get the better of her. At least she hadn't thought about her time with Spain...

The sound of her door opening stopped that particular line of thought, and she sipped her wine attentively, as she listened to the sounds of a coat being removed and shoes being kicked off.

"France?" he called.

"_Oui, Angleterre, j'suis dans la cuisine._" She called, deliberately turning her head toward the window. She loved this particular window, it had the most beautiful view of Paris, sans the Eiffel Tower unfortunately, -she'd bought the place back when she'd hated the thing, but she refused to move all of her belongings to a new home just simply so she could have a good view of it.

"Do you _have _to speak French?" England grumbled to himself as he entered the kitchen, placing down what France assumed to be an overnight bag on the counter.

"You're in France now, _mon amour,_" she supplied airily, "I know you can speak my beautiful language, I taught it to you after all, so I see no reason we should not use it."

"_Va te faire foutre, grenouille mangeuse de fromage._" he said, his face flat but for the tiny upturn of his lips.

France frowned, "But of course you would use it to insult me." She bit out, sparing him a glance.

"Is there another use for it?" he smirked.

"Perhaps not for you." France replied bitterly.

England laughed, it was small and sheltered, but it was still a laugh, and it lessened France's scowl just a little. "So, is there a reason you dragged me out here, or is it just to set me behind on my paperwork?" he asked, though there was little bite to the words.

France allowed her face to soften back to one of indifference, "You looked as if you could do with the rest." She said, finishing her wine, and glancing sternly at him, "You work too hard, you need to learn how to take a break."

England scoffed, "I know full well how to take a break, I just can't afford to."

France raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips, "Then why is it that you're here with me."

He scowled in response, turning his head away defiantly, "Well, you didn't give me much of a choice now did you?" he argued weakly.

A retort was on the tip of France's tongue, but with great difficulty she repressed it and just said, "It's getting late, do you want to get something to eat?"

England snorted in an entirely unappealing way, "In this country?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Well we certainly won't be travelling to yours."

He seemed torn for a moment, then it seems that his stomach got the better of him, "Fine, but there better be something edible on the menu."

France laughed once, getting up and heading out of the kitchen, "I assure you, unlike in your country, we don't have to worry about getting seriously ill from our food." It was easy to fall back into the age old argument, or perhaps it was more like bickering, either way, it was familiar ground for them both to stand on before France tried to drag them into the unknown.

England followed her out, "Well at least our food is palatable."

"Palatable? It is so bland it tastes like you're eating paper no matter whatever it is." France replied dryly, slipping on a pair of boots as England slid on his own shoes.

"Well at least my food doesn't taste like you just threw garlic at a plate and hoped for the best."

"Garlic is a beautiful ingredient, and it certainly tastes better than no flavour at all." She retorted, as both of them tugged on their coats, and headed for the door.

"My food has plenty of flavour!" he said as they stepped outside, and down the hall that would lead them to the stairs and out of her apartment building.

"Don't worry, I will tell the chef you're British," she said with an air of false nonchalance, "Then he will know to make your food flavourless and boring."

"I'll have you know..." he began, with the same scowl as always when the subject of their food came up. France repressed a chuckle at his tirade, content to let the bickering continue for just a while longer.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

Romano had picked out a dress for her, not that she was particularly surprised, and she certainly never complained when he did, they were always gorgeous. This dress though had her raising an eyebrow.

It was red, low-cut and form-fitting, with ruffles around the floaty bottom obviously for the dancing promised later in the night. It was gorgeous, hugging her curves in all the right places and moving silkily against her skin when she walked, if she had been asked for one word to describe it, it would be _sexy,_ and she could tell even before she slipped the soft fabric over her body. She looked at herself in the mirror and pondered over it for a moment, twisting her body to better see herself from different angles. She was a curvy woman anyway, with wide hips and generous thighs, a small waist and a healthy amount of breast, but this dress seemed to bring out her full potential, and she couldn't help but ponder over Romano's reasons for picking this particular gown.

"Hey, _Spagna_, are you-" Romano stopped short in the doorway, his eyes wide, his cheeks a little red. "You're... Wearing the- the... um- the dress I chose." He stuttered, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing lightly as he did.

Spain smiled sweetly back at him, "Of course Roma," She all but sung, "It's gorgeous!" she spun, raising her arms in a seemingly innocent gesture to show off the gown, but she was well aware of the way it showed the curve of her breasts down through the dip in her hips and arch of her back to her shapely behind. She laughed good-naturedly, looking up at him through thick lashes, "Don't you think Romano?"

He made a noise of agreement, shuffling his feet awkwardly, before mentally deciding something and striding over. He tucked back a piece of her hair, refusing to meet her eyes, taking his other hand from where it had been hidden from behind his back and lifting it to tuck a large red carnation behind her ear. She smiled up at him, terrified to say a word for fear it would ruin the moment. He adjusted another piece of her hair and stepped away, coughing to cover up his awkwardness, "You look-" he paused, turning away further and making his way toward the door, "You look good, we're leaving in ten minutes, don't be too long."

He took his leave quickly, all the while Spain stared after him in what was a mixture of surprise and endearment. She sighed, letting out a tiny chuckle, "Oh Roma," she smiled, "You really are far too cute."

She plucked her shoes from the floor, sitting on the bed to buckle her shoes to her feet -traditional Spanish dance shoes, she noted curiously. As she did, she couldn't help but think that perhaps Romano was trying to hint at something, though it could just be her imagination _wanting _him to be hinting at something, she was fairly certain that he was though. This made matters a little more complicated.

Perhaps if it were any other nation it would ease matters, she would admit her feelings, he would admit his, and then they would form a blossoming new relationship full of cheesy yet endearing things such as seen in those questionable romance films France forces them to watch. But nothing was ever that easy with Romano.

She trotted toward the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and pausing there for a moment, leaning against the frame, "Will you be driving?" she chirped, "These shoes aren't very good for that kind of thing."

Romano hesitated a moment, taking a bite of the tomato he was holding and refusing to look in her direction, "Yeah, sure, I don't care either way."

She chuckled, "Thank you 'Mano, shall we be going?"

He nodded stiffly, brushing against her as he passed through the door she was occupying. She followed him with her eyes for a moment, tracing them down his body. He'd chosen well for himself too, his shirt tight in all the right places, this trousers showing the lines of his legs and behind so... _well_.

Oh how she wanted to touch him. Run her hands up and down that body with or without the clothes blocking her way, or preferably, doing so whilst removing said clothes. That would have to wait until after dinner.

Romano plucked his coat from the hook beside the door, pausing before slipping it on to turn at look sceptically at Spain, "What is it? Aren't you coming?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Spain shook her head to clear it, blinking once, then turning back to him with a cheerful smile, "It's nothing 'Mano," she chirped, trotting over to put on her own coat, "You just keep distracting me lately."

He narrowed his eyes at her again, but slipped his coat on without a word, opening the door to the chill of the air outside. She as good as bounded past him to the car, "Come on, let's not keep them waiting!" she chuckled.

Romano frowned but followed regardless, "_Io non sono l'essere lento, stupido Spagna_." He grumbled to himself as he climbed into the car, just a little too quickly for Spain to catch and translate, "_Ti sto distraendo? Come sto causando una distrazione?_"

Good, Spain nodded to herself, now all they had to do was get through dinner and they had a fantastic night ahead of them.

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

She wasn't entirely sure how the night had turned out this way, not that she was complaining at all. No, she certainly wasn't complaining. She just couldn't quite pinpoint where the night had gone so... _right._

It had all started out normally enough...

_ It was warmer than usual in Austria for this time of year, though one certainly wouldn't call it warm at all. Wind whipped at Prussia's skinny limbs through her coat, and despite the fact that she had definitely had it worse as Austria was technically further south and _did _have milder winters, she couldn't help but wish she had chosen a more tropical nation to seduce. She was just grateful it hadn't chosen this particular night to start snowing._

_ The beer in her hands didn't help matters, as the bottles seemed to suck any and all heat from her gloved hands. Although, she supposed with a quiet snicker, at least Austria wouldn't be able to complain about the beer being warm. The thought of drinking them seemed to be enough to keep her trudging forward, her breaths coming out in little puffs of smoke that, as a child, she always used to pretend meant she was a huge and powerfully awesome dragon. "Because," as her child self would say, with a wild grin and a wilder laugh, "What is more awesome than a dragon but me?" Her older self couldn't argue with her logic._

_ It was a short walk from the train station to Austria's house, which is why she hadn't called for a taxi. Though around the time her toes began to lose all feeling, she was beginning to regret her decision to save herself some money, and found herself wishing she'd just parted with the cash._

_ Tights, she thought, would have been sensible, but if all went to plan, then tights would just get in the way later. She wouldn't want to make it harder for the man, and certainly not herself, so the easier the access the better, in her less than humble opinion anyway._

_ She could see Austria's house from where she was now, the outside familiar from centuries of sneaking over to irritate him and Hungary -and really, they made it _far _too easy. She picked up her pace, the tiniest of skips to her step, and bounded down the road toward the large front door. She wondered idly how a man could be simultaneously so tight and so extravagant all at once. It was completely oxymoronic, but Prussia just wrote it off as one of the man's many quirks and hopped up the few little steps that lead to the door._

Was is here, at the door, that it had started?

_She knocked, perhaps a few too many times, but it had the desired effect, Austria appearing at the door only a few moments later._

_ "The bell would have sufficed." He said dryly, but Prussia only smirked._

_ "Ah, pull that stick outa your ass and lighten up, you stuffy aristocrat." She chirped, slipping past him and flitting into the living room filled with old and shoddily repaired furniture. She smiled slightly at the familiarly, as she slipped off her coat and laid it neatly on one of the couches, she hadn't been to Austria's house in almost a decade and she was relieved that the place had not changed too much in her absence. She dumped the beer down on the coffee table, ripping open the plastic that bound the bottles and plucking two out._

_ Austria, having shut the door, followed her in, sighing at the wet footprints she had left. She held out a bottle to him, "Want one?"_

_ He nodded, "_Ja, Bitte_."_

_ She brought the top of the bottle to her mouth, popping off the cap with her teeth, before handing it to him. He took a swig, "_Danke_."_

_ "_Kein Problem._" Prussia replied, popping the cap of her own, and taking a similar gulp, though she held it in her mouth for a moment, savouring the bitter flavour, this was _good _beer after all, it would be blasphemy not to appreciate it._

_ Taking another drink and regarding Prussia with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, Austria spoke, "Why are you _really _here, _Preußen_?"_

Perhaps it was here.

_ She looked up at him, swallowing the contents of her mouth. "What do you mean?" she asked, "You know why I'm here, my friends are busy and West is banging-"_

_ "Yes!" Austria interrupted quickly, before she could finish her sentence, "I know that's what you've told me, but what I want to know is why you _asked_?" Prussia frowned, but he continued, without waiting for her answer, "You usually just show up, drink my beer, trash my house and then pass out on my sofa, so why did you ask this time?"_

Scheiße_. Why didn't she think of that? She panicked for a moment to think of a reason that didn't include, '_you wouldn't have slept with me if I'd just done that_', and quickly settled on, "West told me I should start acting my age, so I thought I'd do the mature thing and ask, but I looks like I won't bother next time."_

_ Austria seemed to panic, his eyes widening, shaking his head, "No!" he blurted, "No, it's fine! I don't mind, in fact, I rather like it." It was then that he seemed to register his own words and retracted back into himself, his cheeks flushing, "A-and by that I mean-"_

_ Prussia laughed, cutting him off, "I know what you meant." She smirked, raising a suggestive eyebrow._

_ Austria frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, the glow on his cheeks getting just a little darker, "I assure you-"_

_ Prussia slinked up to him, quickly pressing herself up against him and hooking a finger under his chin. She smirked, her eyes lidded, as she watched his blush deepen even further, she took back that comment from earlier, there is no one she'd rather seduce, tropical or otherwise. "What?" she purred, subtlety was never her strong point._

_ "I... Uh-" he stuttered._

Huh, _Prussia thought, _that's new... Never seen him flustered before.

_"_Ja, Österreich_?" She crooned, taking her finger and running it down his throat slowly, "What is it?" for good measure she licked her lips, and watched in delight as his eyes flickered there._

_ He shook his head, jerking away from her suddenly and taking a heavy swig from his bottle, "Nothing." He snapped, pushing past her, further into the living room, "_Nichts, Preußen, hör auf damit_!"_

_ Prussia frowned, _Verdammt, _she was finally getting somewhere..._

_ Then she smirked -she was finally getting somewhere- taking another gulp of beer, swirling it around her mouth, "_Okay, Österreich, kann ich warten._"_

_ He frowned, regarding her with suspicion, "Wait for what?" he asked._

_ "_Nichts, Österreich._" She smirked, "Let's have another beer, I didn't steal them from West for nothing."_

_Yes_, Prussia mused, it seems that that is definitely where it started. And oh lord, she was not complaining _at all._

* * *

**I will translate, because I thought using other languages that I don't, in fact, speak, was a good idea...**

**French:**  
**Oui, Angleterre, j'suis dans la cuisine. - Yes, England, I'm in the kitchen.**  
**Va te faire foutre, grenouille mangeuse de fromage. - Go screw(fuck) yourself, cheese-eating Frog.**

**Italian:**  
**Io non sono l'essere lento, stupido Spagna. - I'm not being slow, stupid Spain.**  
**Ti sto distraendo? Come sto causando una distrazione? - I'm distracting? How am I causing a distraction?**

**German:**  
**Nichts, Preußen, hör auf damit! - Nothing, Prussia, stop it!**  
**Okay, Österreich, kann ich warten. - Okay, Austria, I can wait.**

**(Thank so much to a guest reviewer who corrected the french in this chapter!)**


	5. Chapter 4: The Evening (Cont)

**Surprise, I'm not dead! So, I had a free moment, so I finished and proof-read this. This is like the third draft, not gonna lie, but I've told myself that I need to decide on a plot, and I will do so... I hope anyway. Whatever man, I'll work something out eventually...**

**Also, quick thing, when England is talking and it's in italics he's speaking English (in this Fic they speak a common language that all nations know, let's call it Hetlian because I'm original) so France can't understand it, even though we, as the readers, can. If there was a way to make it less understandable I'd do it, but without writing gibberish I don't know how to do that. But, yes, just to avoid confusion.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

_France_

* * *

The cafe she took him to was a small one, one she visited often, one she was also fairly certain didn't serve anything that England would approve of, but really it was his own fault. As they walked in she was greeted by the owners daughter, a petite girl, not twenty, and clearly working there because she needed the money, but she was sweet enough, and listened when France had to rant, so she had become rather fond of the girl as of late.

"_Bonjour, Mme Bonnefois, comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?_" she smiled happily, weaving through the tables to meet them at the door.

"_Ça va très bien, merci Dominique. Mais, je crains que cela ne durera pas longtemps,_" she lowered her voice, gesturing to the man beside her, "_Les Anglais semblent avoir envahi à nouveau._"

"I can understand you, you know!" he muttered, making France chuckle, "_Malgré mon apparence, je parle français très bien._"

France scoffed slightly, "_Non, mon ami, _your accent is terrible_._"

"You can't even speak English!" he retorted with a scowl.

"No I can't, and I can't see a reason I should deign to."

"_It's tactics, France, but it's not like you give a fuck what I say anyway,_"

"That was not an invitation for you to speak English."

"_Really? It seemed like a golden opportunity to me._"

"_Angleterre_!"

"_It's funny, don't you think, how I could be saying anything right now and because you never bothered to learn my language you have no idea if I'm insulting you or not._"

"Stop that!"

"_I am, by the way, that was implied. I understand that you can only hold so much information in your fluffy head._"

He smirked at her, both of them fully aware that he'd won this round. France frowned, turning back to the girl, who smiled sceptically at the two, before gesturing for them to follow her to a table in the back of the cafe that the girl knew full well was France's favourite. It was a quiet corner, with a small table and a large window, perfect for watching the lives of her citizens as they lived their lives.

It was dusk, a pleasant darkness beginning to descend as the streetlights outside flickered into life. She took a quick glance out of the window as she removed her coat, at the small courtyard, cobbled and pleasantly nostalgic with ivy climbing up the sides of the old buildings. There weren't many places like this anymore, and while she wasn't one to shun change she also found it hard not to miss the simpler times, where streets were cobbled and you could see the stars even in the city. She smiled sadly, perhaps she was just a romanticizing old fool.

Although, when she thought about it, there were some things that didn't change, even after so many years of life. Like the young couple that meandered along outside, stealing glances at one another when they thought the other wasn't looking, then finally catching each other in the act, shy smiles on each of their lips which they hid in their scarves. A mother with her small child in her arms as it snoozed quietly, bouncing lightly in her steps to coo the baby into the safety of sleep, it's tiny breaths coming out as little puffs of steam. A group of friends laughing loudly as they walked, in no hurry to be anywhere, and with no true destination, bumping and teasing one another with beaming grins. Her smile turned warmer as she watched, letting out a content sigh, perhaps other things changed, but at least love was constant.

"_France_?" England asked, peering around to better see her face, successfully snapping her from her trance.

She laughed lightly, "_Ça va_, _mon cher, _just thinking is all."

He raised an eyebrow, a small curl coming to his lips, "Really? I wasn't aware you were capable."

She narrowed her eyes but didn't rise to the bait, instead turning to the girl again, "_Je vais avoir mon habitude, il va avoir le même, lui obtenir de la bière au lieu de vin._"

She nodded, "_Bien sûr, il ne faudra pas longtemps._" She winked at France before disappearing off to wait the other tables.

England was scowling, and as France turned her head back to him she found herself cracking up.

"What?" he demanded hotly.

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep in her laughter, "It's nothing," she chuckled, "You just look so ridiculous when you make that face."

"Hey-" he began to protest, but she quickly put a finger over his lips.

"That's not to say it's not terribly endearing, _mon chou,_" She said, leaning forward, her lower lip still trapped under her teeth, "On the contrary, it reminds me of when you were just a little wild boy." She sighed, removing her finger, "You were such a difficult child, terribly cute though."

England snorted, rolling his eyes, "Is that why you invaded me all those years ago?"

France raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to rest her chin on her palms, "Are you still touchy about that?" she smirked, "You're only bitter because I won."

He leaned back in his own chair, stretching his arms above his head, groaning and closing his eyes as his back popped, "Not often since, and I've beaten your arse to a pulp enough times that I don't awfully care anymore." He opened his eyes, his eyes twinkling mischievously, the tiniest hint of a smirk pulling up his lips.

She narrowed her own eyes, "Perhaps, yet here we both are, eating dinner together in a cute little _café français_, one would think us friends, _non_?"

He snorted again, "We are _not _friends."

"Then what are we?" she pressed, furrowing her brows, "Enemies? But, then, what is that formal alliance of over one-hundred years? And if that's not enough, then how whenever one of us is sick the other dotes on them until they're better? What about how, sometimes, just sometimes, I make you laugh, and not some derogatory snort, a real laugh, and you don't know it but it lights up your eyes, and your whole face softens, so you don't look quite so much like an old man anymore. What about those small moments of camaraderie, when we drop the show we put on for ourselves because we're too used to hating each other to admit that we might actually be friends, and-" she cut herself off, realizing that she'd been rambling, and exactly what she was rambling _about_. She held her breath, refusing to look at him until she heard his response.

"Let's just drop it." He said coldly.

They ate dinner in silence, not that France didn't try to break it, but England only grunted in response, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared blankly out of the window.

They walked home in silence, England pointedly not looking at her, his expression unchanged.

And when they got home, England went straight to his room with only a short "Goodnight," before he disappeared.

France grit her teeth worriedly, gulping back two more glasses of wine before she went to bed that night with a stone in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

_Canada_

* * *

"They're hopeless! I can't watch this!" Canada bemoaned, watching the two walk in silence out of the restaurant. "Tell me when it's over."

America growled, his face twisting into an expression of irritation, "I tell you what, I'm no longer surprised that he hasn't gotten laid."

Canada put his face in his hands, "I think we have to re-think our approach."

"Yeah, no kidding," America tisked, glancing back at where they had been with narrowed eyes. "_Jesus Christ Iggy_," he grumbled under his breath, "_Make my job as hard as possible why don't you_?"

"Maybe they'll work it out on their own?" Canada offered in the kind of tone that said he didn't believe a word. America's silence said all it needed to, and he sighed, "Yeah, I knew that was stupid before I said it, but we can hope, eh?"

America turned, grabbing Canada's hand and dragging him back toward the tiny Parisian hotel where they had set up shop, "We need to plan something _big_," He said, with the expression Canada new to be wary of, "I am not going to give up!" He stopped short, turning to Canada who as good as crashed into him, "I'm going to get the old man some French ass even if it's the last thing I do!"

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" Canada asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know yet, but I'll think of something." America replied, continuing in the direction they'd been heading before his abrupt halt.

"Because _that _always goes well..." Canada muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes but following America regardless. It wasn't worth arguing with him, but it would still probably be in his best interests to come up with a back-up plan... just in case.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

She wasn't sure exactly who to thank for the miracle that was the northern half of Italy, but she quickly decided that now wasn't the time to think about it.

Dinner had gone _far _better than any of them expected, Veneziano driving the conversation as usual and managing to somehow keep all parties happy and cheerful. Spain even thought she saw the ghost of a smile on Romano's face, though around Germany that was impossible, _right?_She secretly wondered if underneath that ditzy exterior there was some kind of mastermind, he certainly seemed to know what to say and when to say it to satisfy even Romano when he caught Veneziano sneaking some German sausage into Germany's pasta with a kiss to the blonde's cheek.

"I promise, _fratello,_" he chimed, flitting back toward the kitchen, "It's gone nowhere near yours, and if it makes you feel any better, I think it's kinda gross too."

That seemed to calm the almost rage to just an irritated grumble about 'perfectly good food' and 'fucking German bastardization'.

When Veneziano returned he sat beside Germany and almost instantly started babbling about something he'd heard in town, which helped to ease the tension somewhat. Once Veneziano started like this it was easy just to nod along with the occasional "Oh really?" or "I can't believe it!" and he would fill in the rest, so used to his brother's scathing comments that he either took them in his stride or ignored him.

When the meal was over, several servings later, Spain fully wished that they had gone dancing first, the dress feeling significantly tighter than it had a few hours prior. Veneziano half-heartedly offered to tidy while everyone else relaxed, and Germany predictably offered to help, meeting minimal resistance. Spain and Romano opted to wait in the living room, Romano grumbling that Veneziano 'shouldn't need that bastard's help', and Spain following simply because that's what Romano was doing and she didn't particularly fancy cleaning the dishes with the two lovebirds giving each other googly eyes the whole time.

"So, are you excited for dancing Romano?" she asked, plopping down in the seat opposite Romano's own.

He looked up with a kind of 'huh?' expression, but quickly settled it into one of indifference as he processed her words, "I suppose," he said, "It's been a while since we danced together though."

Spain waved the comment off, "Don't worry about it, we were pretty good if I remember correctly," She paused a moment, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin, then smiled slightly, an idea coming to her, "I guess we'll just have to be better than _Alemania_ and _Veneziano_,_sí_?"

His face twisted with the tiniest of smirks, his eyes flicking up to meet Spain's briefly, "_Sì_."

Once they arrived they didn't speak with the other two much, instead went straight to dancing, fitting themselves in between the couples already dancing to something Spain recognized as tango music, she could dance this. She vaguely remembered Argentina teaching her during a 'diplomatic visit' (Read: a secret vacation, since her boss wouldn't let her take a real one) there, and she'd been rather enamoured with it.

"Do you know how to tango 'Mano?" she asked, getting into the ready position with a teasing smile on her face.

"Ha!" he laughed, smirking just a tad, "Of course I do! Just try to keep up, eh?"

She smiled back with a hint of a raised eyebrow, "I'll try," she began, before, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "_Cariño_."

This made him jerk back a little, his face red, but she laughed it off, urging him to begin with a light push to the hand she had laid on his shoulder.

It didn't take long for them to fall into an effortless rhythm, the improvised dance coming to them as if they had done it a thousand times. The twist and stretch of muscles felt amazing as they worked themselves around each other, dipping and lifting and spinning, breaths mixing when they found their faces close together, and perhaps, just perhaps, letting them linger there just a little too long before separating again. Their eyes never left the other's, the olive green and amber communicating the move before it was preformed, they had had centuries of practice, after all.

They didn't notice the crowd that was forming around them until the song ended, with Spain held effortlessly upside down by Romano, it taking a moment for her to catch her breath. She opened her eyes just as Romano pulled her back up, so their faces were pressed close, their heavy breaths lingered between them. They hardly even noticed when the crowd started clapping.

"When did you get so skilled," she began, lidding her eyes before purring out what she knew made him blush every time, "_Italia_?"

She couldn't tell his reaction, as his face was flushed from the dancing and any racing of his heart would also be chocked up to that. He stepped away, releasing her hand and nodding curtly to the crowd, before flicking his eyes back to hers with an unreadable expression, "I've always been, haven't I _Spagna_?" and then came the smirk, that smirk he used on pretty girls, or pretty guys, or on anyone but Spain, and she thought for a moment her heart stopped working.

That's when the other Italy came up and pressed his lips close to her ear, "I hope you're not too tired," he whispered, "I've set a little something up to help you woo Romano." She frowned at turned to the younger Italian in confusion, he just giggled, "I've seen the way you look at each other and I thought I'd help speed things along, this is Romano we're talking about, he's a jerk, but he means well, eh? He loves to watch you dance the flamenco, I bribed the DJ and thought you could give a special performance for him, I mean..." he giggled a little, "For the _group_."

She could hardly believe her ears, Veneziano was truly a gift from god.

He winked, and Spain gave a nod, a huge smile suddenly lighting up her face. It seemed the crowd had dispersed, now that their performance was over and no new song had begun. Veneziano ran off somewhere Spain couldn't see, and she could only assume that he was going to tell the DJ the good news. She sauntered over to Romano, brushing past him, "I've got a little surprise for you." She purred into his ear, pulling back to meet his sceptical eyes, before he could reply though the DJ interrupted him.

"_Noi abbiamo un ospite speciale oggi, che sta andando a ballare per noi, quindi per favore benvenuto Isabel Fernández Carriedo._" He said, making Romano frown at her.

She just winked and made her way to the centre of the dance floor. She didn't need to know the song, this kind of dance was so engrained into her very being that she could dance it to any song in existence. Her body didn't need commands, it just danced, it wasn't the same as the Tango they had just done, she was skilled at that, yes, but this was as simple a task as breathing, as her heart pumping the blood through her, thoughtless, effortless.

As the first notes began though she needed no prompt, and for a moment she allowed herself to forget her surroundings, the crowd that was watching her, hanging on every twist of a heel and flick of a wrist, and allow herself to be alone with Romano. The only eyes she noticed were the wide amber ones that watched with a look of awe and something Spain couldn't pinpoint. She smiled at him as their eyes met, and to her surprise his gaze didn't waver, kept tight to her own, leaving her breathless and her heart just a little wobbly.

Once again when the song ended she barely noticed the applause, bowing more out of habit than anything else, her eyes glued dutifully to Romano's. She walked over to him and before she could say so much as a word she was grabbed by the arm and practically dragged out of the room.

As soon as they were outside she found herself pressed up against the cool brick, Romano's scent filling her nose as his lips crushed themselves against hers'. She was stiff for a moment as she processed what was happening, but as soon as she did she eagerly reciprocated, her hands grasping at the back of his neck and opening her lips for him. He pressed himself into her, his fingers trailing her jaw and neck and down her shoulders, cautious in their pressure in stark contrast to the rashness of his previous actions.

They only pulled away for breath. "_Italia..._" Spain breathed, her lips tingling from the kiss, her body buzzing with excitement.

"You're a fucking tease." He ground out, turning his eyes away, his face going red as his embarrassment finally seemed to catch up with him.

"Well you're hardly any better, are you," she chided in response, fiddling with the hair at the base of his neck, "At least I didn't-"

She was cut off by his lips again, but soft this time, and she was sure she could feel a small smile as she replied to the chaste kiss, humming happily. When he pulled back again it wasn't by far, their faced still close enough for their breaths to dry each other's lips, which each now held a definite red tint from Spain's lipstick, the smile she had detected was gone, replaced with a look of worry, "_Spagna_?" he asked, his voice practically a whisper, and she was sure she heard a quiver in the sound, "What... does-" he hesitated, turning his whole face away, "W-what does this... mean?"

And at that Spain's face softened, the warmest of smiles lighting up her face, "Whatever you want it to," she said, brushing her fingertips over his cheek, letting out a small chuckle, "Although, keep in mind that I don't plan on giving up my kisses anytime soon." she teased, pressing her lips to a suddenly cherry red cheek, staining it further as what remained of her lipstick smeared across it.

"Don't make me regret this." He grumbled, prompting a laugh from Spain. She leaned around to press another kiss to his lips, and he leant into it eagerly, pressing her just a little tighter to the wall. She decided she loved it like that, and that's exactly how they stayed.

Spain really did need to find someone to thank for the creation of Veneziano, that crafty, conniving Veneziano, he truly was a gift to them all.

* * *

_Veneziano_

* * *

What she didn't know was that, at that particular moment, standing around the corner next to a slightly miffed Germany, stood that little Veneziano, practically screeching with excitement.

"Look _Germania_!" he whispered, a giant, beaming smile on his face, "It worked!"

Germany sighed, "_Ja_, it did, and I'm happy for you, but do you really think we should be spying on them?"

Veneziano waved him off, "I want to bask in the fruits of my labour." He replied.

"Fine, just don't bask for too long, we need to get home at a reasonable time tonight."

Veneziano just chuckled, "Lighten up _Germania_, just be happy for _mio fratello e il suo amore_."

Germany half-smiled at that, not that Veneziano saw, so caught up in beaming at Romano and Spain as they curled closer around each other, and smiled giddily at one another.

"_Ja, ja._" He sighed, rolling his eyes, as he wrapped his arms around Veneziano's waist and leant his chin on the top of his head, "I'm happy for them too."

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

The haze of alcohol was heavy on their minds, having long since finished the beer Prussia had brought, and raided Austria's own stash of booze. It didn't take long for them to be passing a bottle of wine between them, glasses discarded in favour of just swigging from the bottle.

"Y'know," Prussia mused, her words just a little slurred, pausing to take a long draught, "You're kinda..." she turned to him, sucking in a deep breath to cover a hiccup, "Pretty." Austria snorted, making her laugh loudly, "Pretty, Pretty, _Österreich_," she giggled, leaning on his shoulder to support herself.

Austria leaned his head in, or perhaps he just let it fall forward and it happened to land near her ear, in any case, he sucked in a deep breath, releasing it huskily, "You're pretty pretty too, _Preußen,_" he whispered.

She turned her head up to face him, their noses barely an inch from each other, their breaths mingling and stinking of liquor, grinning lazily, "We're pretty people," she nodded to herself, "We're pretty drunk people." Then she started giggling again, making Austria giggle himself.

They stopped giggling, burgundy eyes staring into violet. They each blinked a few times, sucking in deep breaths as their gaze slowly slipped down from eyes to bodies, raking up and down as they drunkenly imagined what was beneath the thin layers of clothing that separated them –and really there weren't that many anymore, as alcohol has a nasty habit of slowly making clothing disappear. Austria's were the first to tear their way back up, settling on Prussia's lips, which all of a sudden seemed _far _too tempting, moist and plump from where the bottle had pressed so hard and for so long, stained red from the wine. Prussia followed closely behind, and she suddenly found the room very hot, and the space between them very large, and... _Mein Gott, er ist so verdammt wunderschön._

Before they knew what they were doing, they were kissing. Sloppy and needy and completely drunkenly, with too much teeth and too much tongue, but it didn't seem that either of them much cared.

Prussia moaned as she dived her tongue in further, swinging a leg clumsily up and over his so she was straddling his waist. Her hands found his hair, his found her hips, wander up and under her shirt, untucking it from her skirt. Her heart beat hard in her chest, not from nerves, she would say later, but from anticipation. She tugged him closer, her nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, letting out a needy moan of, "_Österreich!_"

It didn't take long before he had a hand firmly cupping her breast through her bra, as the other wandered around to her back to find the clasp of the offending fabric. Prussia's own hands left his hair and found his shirt buttons, her drunken fingers fiddling with them for a moment before she became impatient with them, tearing the shirt clean open with a guttural growl. In the back of her mind she realized that Austria would be pissed at her later, but she would deal with later when later happened.

Austria pulled back, but Prussia paid it little mind, instead attaching her lips to his neck, completely set on giving him the hickey of the century. "_Preußen,_" he gasped, as her fingers found his nipples, she played with them absentmindedly as she sucked and nipped at his neck, "_Preußen, ich_-"

She silenced him with another kiss, pulling away for only the time it took to tug her shirt over her head before crushing them back together, tangling their tongues together for all it was worth. She ground her hips down, drawing a moan from the man below her, her hands running down his arms as she slid the remnants of his shirt off him.

His hands felt for her bra again, fumbling with the clasp, his usually precise fingers muddled and confused by liquor. After a moment, in which Prussia detached herself from his mouth in favour of returning to the burning red mark on his neck, he managed to pop it open, slipping it from her shoulders and throwing it haphazardly into the room. His hands once again found her breasts, massaging them with his palms and rolling the nipples between his fingers, he could feel the vibrations of her moan on her lips as she ravished his neck, which only led him to let out a deep moan of his own.

With an especially hard bite to his neck, Prussia pressed her hips down, already feeling her wetness beginning to cling to her pants, and- "_Preußen,_" came the gasp, or was it a moan? Prussia liked to think it was a breathless plea, desperate and wanton and fucking sexy, so sexy she let out a moan of her own, reaching her hands down to his waistband in a –not fucking desperate- scurry to hurry things along.

Prussia gasped as she felt something sneak its way under her skirt and begin to rub her through her pants. Her breath hitched as his thin and practiced fingers languidly rubbed up and down, sending teasing waves of pure unbridled want rolling through her, and, _oh Gott, _that felt so good that she moaned breathily, seeking out his lips hungrily, wanting the feeling of his tongue against hers. He pressed a little harder through the fabric, and she paused in her hungry devouring of his mouth to growl a low, "_Mach weiter!"_

He let out a low chuckle, a smirk twisting his lips as his fingers pushed for that spot that would make her-

"_Ja, Österreich!_" she whimpered, pressing her hips down against his fingers.

"Eager, aren't we, _Preußen?_" he said, and though she was sure it was supposed to sound teasing and sexy, it was hard to pull off with the amount of liquor he'd consumed.

She didn't seem to care too much at that moment, because the waves of pleasure that were currently wracking her body coupled with the amount of alcohol she had consumed were enough to make anything unbelievably sexy, so her only response was a gasped, "_Ja..._"

A few moments later she grabbed at his wrist, stopping his movements with a breathy growl of, "Stop your fucking teasing, you lazy aristocrat! You're a man aren't you?"

She met his eyes hungrily, his own eyes holding a hesitance in the form of uncertainty of what exactly she was asking. Their breaths mingled for a second, and he slowly, tentatively nodded his head.

A grin spread across her face, and she tugged him into a quick kiss before shoving him out of it and whispering, "Then prove it by making me feel like a woman."

* * *

_Hungary_

* * *

She was about three-hundred percent sure she should _not _have stayed outside the window. She should have left as soon as they shoved their tongues down each other's throats, but for the life of her she _could not _look away.

She swallowed thickly as she watched _Prussia _rip open his shirt, exposing him in a way she herself had been able to do not all that long ago, as each piece of clothing disappeared. With each moan she found herself a little more enthralled, until she was sure that if either of them deigned to look at the window, she was sure they would see her, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

As she watched them, she unconsciously made the decision to help them along, partly for their benefit, partly to satisfy her own voyeuristic tendencies. One thing was certain, she wasn't going to let this be the last time this happened.

"Would you look at that." Poland said, his eyes just as wide as Hungary's, his head just as obvious above the window-sill. "Who'd have thought she'd, like, do it on her own?"

"It's the alcohol," she said, perhaps a little too quickly, "_Ausztria_ could never hold his liquor very well."

"Well, it doesn't exactly look like she's forcing him." Poland replied sceptically.

"I never said that." She snapped, "I'm saying that he's a horny drunk, and he'd probably bed _Oroszország_ if he were there."

"You'd know." Poland retorted.

"I was married to the man for quite a few years." She frowned before spotting Poland's grin and punching him playfully, "Shut up! My sex life is no concern of yours!"

Poland laughed, "You, like, make your sex life a concern of mine."

She just smiled, shaking her head. It's not she wasn't making her ex-husband's sex life a concern of her own...

Speaking of which...

* * *

**Translations and stuff:**

**French:**  
**Bonjour, Mme Bonnefois, comment allez-vous aujourd'hui? - Hello, Mrs. Bonnefois, how are you today?**  
**Très bien, merci Dominique. Mais, Je crains que cela ne durera pas longtemps, les Anglais semblent avoir envahi à nouveau. - Very well, thank you Dominique. But I fear that won't last long, the English seem to have invaded again.**  
**Malgré mon apparence, je parle français très bien. - Despite my appearance, I speak French very well.**  
**Je vais avoir mon habitude, il va avoir le même, merci. Mais lui obtenir de la bière au lieu de vin. -I'll have my usual, he'll have the same, thank you. But with beer instead of wine.**  
**Bien sûr, il ne faudra pas longtemps. - Very well, it won't be long.**

**Italian:**  
**Noi abbiamo un ospite speciale oggi, che sta andando a ballare per noi, quindi per favore benvenuto Isabel Fernández Carriedo. - We have a special guest today, she's going to dance for us, so please welcome Isabel Fernández Carriedo.**

**German:**  
**Mein Gott, er ist so verdammt wunderschön. - My god, he is so pretty.**  
**Mach weiter! - Get on with it!**

**Hungarian:**  
**(I don't normally do country names, but this one is nothing like English, so...)**  
**Oroszország - Russia**


	6. Chapter 5: The Morning

**That took entirely too long to write, oh my god, oh well, it's here now for your reading pleasure.**

**Enjoy ;)**

* * *

_France_

* * *

The morning was quiet as she woke, no sign that she had a visitor anywhere in the house, and so for a moment she forgot that she did, slipping out of her room and across the hall into the bathroom. She yawned daintily and wiped at her eyes, glancing briefly in the mirror with a grimace before turning on the shower, waiting for the hot water to take the place of the frozen water that was currently flooding the pipes, and slipping out of her nightgown that really didn't have all that much to it to begin with.

She let the still warming water wash over her as she stepped in, sighing as she remembered that she wasn't alone at all, and that she still had the whole debacle with England to sort out. Under any other circumstance she would let it blow over in its own time, let him get over himself and stop being so childish, but she didn't exactly have that kind of luxury anymore.

She frowned as she lathered up her hair, genuinely concerned that she'd have to apologize when she'd done nothing particularly offensive, something that she was not entirely prepared to do in light of the precedent it was likely to set. The last thing she wanted was to end up having to always be the one who apologized.

Just as she was conditioning she heard a voice call from somewhere she suspected was her guest bedroom, judging by the "Oh bollocks!" that preceded it, "France...?"

The source of said voice appeared to be outside the bathroom door now, and she shut the shower off, sticking her head outside to see the back of the Englishman's hair peaking through the door, "Besides the fact you should learn to close your bloody doors," he began, turning his head just slightly before snapping it back as soon as he saw the completely naked form of France staring at him bewilderedly, "Were you aware you have a large troll living in your guest-room wardrobe?"

France just stared at the messy blonde head for a moment in disbelief before concluding that he was in fact serious, and that he had seemingly forgotten everything that _he _had done the night prior. "Excuse me?" she said warily, deciding to start carefully, but not prepared to ruin it if he had just decided to forget about the whole thing. It certainly made her life easier, not having to apologize or coax an apology out of him.

"Obviously not." He muttered, "Well it wouldn't be a bother, they're usually pleasant enough, but I seem to have pissed this one off just a tad."

"You pissed it off?"

He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head a little sheepishly, "Well, I-uh, haha, y'see..."

"_Angleterre..._" France sighed, "How did you - whist being here for all but one night- manage to piss off an alleged troll that has been living in my guest-room wardrobe? Whom -I might add- has been living there peacefully and without trouble for god only knows how long."

"Hey!" he snapped, "It's not my fault he wouldn't budge over to give some room for my trousers."

France pinched the bridge of her nose, "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Well I don't know, but I don't see myself getting back in that room anytime in the foreseeable future, and... I don't have any clothes."

France smirked then, finally realizing why the Brit was so intent on staying hidden around the corner, "Are you naked Angleterre?" she chuckled, leaning against the wall, completely bare herself.

"No, I'm wearing pants, but that's not entirely proper, now is it," he griped, "Not that you'd care."

France snorted, "You're right, I don't." She replied easily, "But if you insist on being a bore I should have some men's clothes in the box under my bed."

"Thanks." He replied, hesitating for a moment, "And France, I'm sorry about last night, I was a dickhead, can we just forget about it?"

France stared at him a little shocked for a moment, "O-oui," she stammered, "What brought this on? Did the troll hit you in the head before you got away?"

"I was trying to-" he began irritably, but cut himself off, "Eugh, whatever, _see if I apologize to you again._" He grumbled, disappearing from the doorway, and she was sure she heard him mutter something more in English as he stalked across the hall though she didn't care to listen to see if it really was.

She laughed in relief, stepping back into the shower, and she was worried that the morning was going to be awkward. Trust England to break the ice with something like pissing off one of his imaginary friends. That made her laugh a little more. Then a little more. Then she was doubling over under the water and holding her stomach as she shook with irrepressible laughter.

"France?" came England's voice, but she couldn't look up at him through her laughter, "What the bloody hell is going on?"

Was that worry or irritation in his voice? She decided to believe the former and the endearment she felt was enough to calm her laughter enough for her to choke out, "_Je t'aime, stupide Anglais_."

She didn't even stop to think as she said it, and neither did she think as he yelled back in angry English she was too busy laughing to bother even trying to understand. Perhaps the visit wasn't as much of a disaster as she was terrified it was going to be after yesterday's fiasco. No, it was going decidedly better now.

* * *

_Canada_

* * *

Canada awoke to the sound of what could only be described as gross sobbing, a not entirely pleasant thing, but what concerned him more was that it was most definitely the sound of his brothers brand of gross sobbing.

He opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep, and looked around as urgently as his still sleep-addled brain could manage. What he saw was the last thing he expected.

America was curled up on his side of the bed, his legs hugged to his chest, his chin resting on his knees as he stared intently at the book clutched in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. Canada blinked again, just to make sure he wasn't still asleep and dreaming.

"Amer-ica?" he said sleepily, earning only a sob from the other in response, "America, what're you-?"

This time he got a choked "Sh!"

Another long blink, he picked up his glasses from the bedside table, placing them on his nose so he could finally read the title of the book, "Al? Why are you reading _The Notebook_?"

Another sob, "I don't know, I thought it might help, but this book is depressing as fuck, dude."

"Help? Help what?"

"With Eyebrows and Froggy," he rubbed at his eyes, before burying his face in his knees, "But I didn't sign up for this emotional turmoil! Three-hundred-and-sixty-five letters Canada!" he screeched, letting out another sob, "Every day for a year! England can't compete with that!"

Canada groaned, falling back against the bed, his hands over his face. "_Be strong Canada,_" he muttered, "_This is for the greater good._"

"She doesn't even remember him, but he reads their story to her every day!"

"_The whole world will be better for it..._"

"Just in the hope she remembers, and he can have his wife back, just for a minute!"

"_You can handle this._"

"And don't get me started on _Dear _fucking _John_!"

Gritting his teeth, Canada turned back to his brother, who still had his face in his knees, "Why are you reading mediocre romance novels?"

"Research!" he said, though his voice was now seriously muffled by the arms he had wrapped over his head.

"Oh for the love of-"

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

Spain wasn't so worried about the bet anymore, not that it had been anything more than a reasonable and justifiable excuse in her mind to finally begin pursuing Romano. Who was she to know it would be so easy?

They hadn't slept together that night, not in the way that would win her the bet at any rate. No, the dancing and emotional turmoil had put them both straight to sleep as soon as they practically collapsed through the door, up the stairs and into Romano's bed -yes, Romano's, because even if he had just confessed his feelings to a beautiful Spaniard, it seemed he still couldn't bring himself to leave his brother alone with Germany- only just managing to shuck their clothes lethargically, and only because Romano insisted that they _were not _sleeping in them.

A light ache ran through her muscles as she stretched, the sun having finally woke her up, the curtains open, the cold seeping into the room through the exposed glass. She pulled up the blankets closer to herself, cuddling closer to the body at her side.

The body grumbled, "_Dannazione Spagna!_ Stop stealing the sheets! It's fucking cold!"

She chuckled as she felt the blankets tug in his direction and his body shift against her. She hugged herself a little closer to his back, pressing a light kiss to the exposed back of his neck.

He jerked away, yelping at the contact, twisting so that for the first time that morning their eyes met, "And don't do that!" he snapped, rubbing at the back of his neck, "You make me feel like the girl!"

Spain smirked a little, leaning in closer to Romano, who to his credit didn't shy away, "But you're cute enough to be the girl Roma," she purred, licking her lips. His protest was cut off by a finger to his lips, and a giggle, "I'm kidding 'Mano, you're the manliest man I know."

She chuckled lowly and pressed a light kiss to his downturned lips, he was a little stiff, and when she pulled away, he was staring at her with wide eyes. She frowned, "Are you alright?" she asked.

His cheeks were red, a slow blush blooming across his cheeks, toward his ears, "I-I uh, yeah, I'm fine. I just-"

Spain chuckled, "Oh, was it the kissing?" she asked, rolling over so she was laid on top of him, her legs either side of his hips, her fingers playing with the hair that was knotted at the base of his neck, "Don't worry _Italia_," she purred, leaning a little closer to him, "You'll have plenty of time to get used to it."

Romano's whole mood seemed to switch then, the blush was still there, but his eyes stopped being wide, becoming lidded and dark, and the corners of his lips twitched up into _that _smirk, and Spain thought her heart stopped.

He flipped them over, so Spain was lying on her back, his hands placed on either side of her head, as if to ensure her attention was directed directly at him. She often forgot that Romano was not the same young boy he once was and had probably had many lovers before her, she wasn't sure what to think about that, but decided that then was not the time to dwell on it. She breathed out steadily, despite her racing heart, tightening the hold she had on his neck and pulling him closer. Romano chuckled huskily, "You better not be lying to me _Spagna_," he said, and the deep, slow way he did it stirred up something inside her and made her want to just devour the man hovering ever so tantalizingly above her. He leant in, seemingly to kiss her, and she moved to meet him, but at the last moment he ducked and pressed a kiss to her exposed neck. She felt his smile as he lingered there a moment, letting his breath wash over the now damp skin, "You know what happens when I don't get what I want."

Oh, and she'd be a liar if she said that didn't send shivers down her spine and a force a gasp from her lips. "Would I ever lie to you _Italia_?" she replied breathily, making his face appear just inches above her own.

"Call me that again." He purred.

"_Italia_." She breathed.

He smirked, leaning a little closer, "Again."

"_Italia."_

He let out a long and shaky breath "Again."

_ "Italia! Oh, Mi guapo Italia!_" she cooed, running her hands over his cheeks.

His breathing was a little heavy how, his eyes a little less lusty and a little more longing, "Once more..." he breathed, his voice soft, barely audible.

"_Italia_..." she said just as softly, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

He reached up, grasping her hand, his eyes never leaving hers, solid and determined, guiding her hand further up until her fingers brushed against that curl she loved to tease him with. He chewed on his lip nervously as she twisted it around her finger, taking the non-verbal cue, gently pulling against it, slowly, not like her usual tugs. Oh, and if the long moan he let out wasn't the most arousing thing.

"_Spagna_..." he gasped, his eyes closing as his face screwed up, his lips parted just the smallest bit. Then she let the pressure go, only to drag out another long pull to the unruly piece of hair, "_Spagna, Oh Dio, ti prego Spagna!_" he breathed, his hips pushing down against her of their own accord, she could tell he was hard already. _From just a few little pulls Romano? _She thought mirthfully, admiring his panting, parted lips, _I could get used to this._

He surged forward, kissing her sloppily, his hands reaching down to touch her mostly bare skin. She pulled on the curl a little harder, and she couldn't miss the whine he let out, "I w-ant you to -hnng- f-feel good t-oo." He gasped out against her lips.

She tugged him into another kiss by his curl, wrapping her legs around his hips and grinding their bodies together, "I do, _Italia_," she murmured.

"N-no, I-I want-"

"I know, _mi amor_," she said, taking the advantage of their momentary separation to admire his flushed and desperate face. "_Quiero Que Me Hagas El_ _Amor, Italia. Quiero Que Seas Mío,_ _Bésame_?" she breathed after a moment, and the next moment was spent in a heated and desperate kiss.

That moment didn't last long though, as only a few seconds later the scene was completely broken by the slam of an open door, some happy Italian speaking, some angry Italian yelling, then another slam of a closed door.

Needless to say, the mood was ruined.

* * *

_Veneziano_

* * *

Veneziano would be lying if he told you that he hadn't been expecting Romano and Spain to be getting to know each other a little better -or so to speak- that morning. He wouldn't be lying, however, if he told you that he hadn't been expecting them to be in the middle of it as he walked in the room.

The reply to his happy, "_Buongiorno Romano!_" was a loud and embarrassed, "_Prendi il cazzo fuori di qui, Veneziano!_" making him squeak and slam the door back closed, but not before he caught an eyeful of his brother and Spain in a rather compromising position.

"So, how was he enjoying her tomato?" Germany asked nonchalantly and with a completely straight face as Veneziano scurried into the living room looking incredibly sheepish.

"You heard that?" Veneziano asked, turning a little red, and tapping his foot anxiously on the rug that covered the tiled floor.

Germany allowed a tiny chuckle to escape him as he took in the Italian, "The whole street heard." He replied easily, "Romano's hardly quiet."

Veneziano shuffled over to the German and as good as collapsed into his lap, "Do you think he'll hate me?" he said, sulkily tucking his head into Germany's neck.

Germany smiled softly, patting the Italian soothingly on the back a few times, "He's your brother, he won't hate you."

Veneziano pulled his face away, teary-eyed and wobbly-lipped, "Are you sure?"

He nodded, "He's forgiven you for worse." Veneziano's face lit back up, but before he could say anything, Germany had a hand over his mouth, "Perhaps you should give him a minute to calm back down though."

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

Prussia awoke in a bed, not entirely sure how she'd gotten there, because last thing she remembered was downing almost an entire cellar's worth of wine with Austria.

_Austria..._ Where _was _Austria?

She sat up, ignoring the all too familiar ache in her brain and glanced around the room that could only belong to the uptight aristocrat, so she was still in his house, that was a good sign. Another glance noted the glass of water and pills that sat on the bedside table, so he knew she was here... she wasn't sure what that meant, but she did know that he wasn't so pissed that he'd depraved her of headache relief, and that sure as hell was a good sign.

She picked up the drink and downed the pills gingerly, wincing as she threw her head back to send them down her throat, but eagerly finished off the whole glass. This action revealed something else. That thing was that she was completely naked. She raised her eyebrows as she regarded herself, the chances that they'd had sex were getting higher.

She kicked the covers off, wandering a small distance before picking up what was clearly one of Austria's shirts and buttoning it about halfway so that it still showed a good deal of cleavage, and a pair of Austria's pants and decided that that would do as far as clothing was concerned.

She trotted from the room and downstairs, where she was sure she could smell something baking. As she approached the kitchen, wishing she'd donned socks as her feet slapped against the cold hardwood floor, she heard what was definitely Austria muttering to himself.

"...wake her up and tell her to leave." Prussia found herself frowning as she listened further, "How long does _Deutschland _let her sleep for? Does she sleep this long every day? Surely she must have _some_ kind of responsibility to wake up for." Prussia allowed herself a small chuckle at that, and peaked her head around the door at Austria who stood looking out of the window with a cup of what she presumed to be coffee cradled in his hands.

"The work I usually do doesn't require me to be up early." She said with a small smirk, making the man jump so far out of his skin he almost dropped his coffee, spilling the hot liquid on his hands in the process.

He made a rather unmanly sound and put down the cup, waving his hand around in an attempt to either cool the scorching liquid or shake it from his skin entirely. Prussia sighed and walked over to him, taking his hand and leading to the sink, where she turned on the tap and stuck his hand under the stream. "How you survived this long I don't know." She said, raising an eyebrow at him before returning her eyes to his hand.

He huffed somewhat indignantly, "It was no thanks to you that's for certain."

"You once attacked your own army and lost ten-thousand men." She replied slightly smugly, "Keep that under the water, I'm going to get something for it."

She trotted over to the cupboard she knew Austria kept his first aid kit, hyper-aware of his eyes on her back. "I thought we agreed not to mention that, and I can take care of myself, thank you." He said simply, but Prussia ignored him, in favour of reaching up to pull down the kit.

She turned, "That may be true, but I've never played fair, have I? And since when have you ever been one to refuse a service when it's offered for free?"

Austria frowned, huffing a little air from his nose, "I think you're confusing me with _Schweiz_, I-"

"I'm not confusing anybody," she interrupted, pushing his body out of the way to better examine his reddened hand while keeping it under the water, "Stop being so stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn, I'm letting you-"

"But you're moaning the whole time, that, to me, doesn't sound like cooperation."

"This wouldn't have happened at all, if you hadn't snuck up on me." He griped, folding his free hand over his chest.

"It's not my fault I'm awesomely stealthy." She quipped, her lips twisting up into the tiniest of smirks as she noticed his scowl. "Has it really been so long that you can't even sense an enemy sneaking up on you anymore?"

"I was not a machine for war, unlike you _Preußen_, I have a culture beyond mindless fighting."

Prussia just shrugged, "I suppose I just expected a better survival instinct of someone who existed in feudal_ Europa_."

"That was a long time ago." Austria sighed in response, "We've all gotten too used to the peacetime in recent years."

Prussia didn't reply to that, rather opted to play with the long fingers of Austria's wounded hand, with neatly trimmed nails and smooth but for his musician's calluses, her own skin was only a little more pale than his, but her hands were harder, scarred and badly maintained.

"I wouldn't wish for it back though," he continued, "I'm not sure many of us would."

"I would." Prussia cut in, making Austria look at her with a strange expression.

"It's different for you though, you-"

"Existed?" she supplied, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, I mean-" Austria began, but was quickly cut off by Prussia's raised hand and a tiny chuckle that escaped her lips.

"Why try to deny it, life was simpler then, all I had to worry about was if someone was going to try to stab me in my sleep and which small nation could next be easily conquered, or which large nation was going to try to conquer you, now we have taxes and the economy and human rights to maintain." She shrugged, turning off the tap and towelling his hand dry, "I'm just glad West does all of that stuff."

Austria frowned, "Surely you helped him to begin with."

She waved a hand nonchalantly, "I'm not trying to imply I've _never _had to do that stuff," she replied, uncapping a tube of some kind of burn gel and applying it to his hand, "I'm not even saying life was easy back then, certainly not for me, a left-handed, albino _woman_, I'm just saying that that's not what I'm good at, I'm good at war, and..." she paused, frowning just a little.

"_Deutschland _said you were good at playing the flute."

She snorted obnoxiously, "Of course he did, I'm awesome at playing the flute."

He responded with a snort of his own, "I'll believe that when I hear it."

She jabbed him in the forehead, "Hey, Mr 'I'm-so-superior' you're not the only one who can play music, y'know!"

He just rolled his eyes and moved to tip his still steaming coffee down the drain. She glared at him a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, before he spoke his tone aloof and distant, "Thank you, _Preußen_, but when will you be leaving?"

She felt her heart sink a little, but didn't let it show outwardly, waving a hand in false nonchalance, "I wasn't planning on leaving at all, my brother has planned to spend the day in Italy," she chuckled slightly, wiggling her eyebrows at Austria, who groaned and covered his face with his hands, "And I don't have anything to do but sit at home, which is totally un-awesome, so I just figured I'd stay here until Hungary threw me out."

"We're not _actually _married anymore you know." Austria grumbled lowly, before raising his voice and frowning, "And why is it when _she _kicks you out?"

Prussia smirked, "Because she _can_." She challenged, her eyes flashing mischievously.

Austria scowled for a moment before slumping a little, "Fine," he sighed, "Do whatever you want, goodness knows if anyone can stop you."

Prussia chuckled, patting him on the shoulder as she passed, "_Danke Österreich,_" she chirped, as she headed for the fridge. "Oh, and have you seen my clothes?" she added casting a sideways glance at him, "They seem to have been misplaced somewhere along the road last night."

And she'd be lying if she said he didn't turn the funniest shade of pink.

* * *

_Hungary_

* * *

Hungary frowned at the ceiling of her bedroom, her tongue stuck out in thought.

Her phone gave a quick chime, and she turned to it, reading the text as it popped onto the screen.

_From: Ass-tria_

_To: Me_

_Can you please come and remove Prussia from my house?_

She laughed a little, suddenly remembering that she'd never changed her contact names back to normal after that one girls night a little while ago, unlocking her phone to respond.

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Ass-tria_**

**_Why? Is she causing trouble?_**

_From: Ass-tria _

_To: Me_

_Whatever makes you think that?_

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Ass-tria_**

**_What is she doing?_**

_From: Ass-tria_

_To: Me_

_She keeps distracting me while I try to get work done. _

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Ass-tria_**

**_Why don't you play her something? That always used to sober her up._**

_From: Ass-tria_

_To: Me_

_Is that code for you're not coming to help?_

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Ass-tria_**

**_Sorry, but I'm busy right now. You'll just have to distract her with a stick or a ball or something._**

_From: Ass-tria_

_To: Me_

_You're not funny._

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Ass-tria_**

**_Sok szerencsét, Ausztria._**

She locked her phone again, chuckling to herself. She should probably have helped him, but as she imagined the chaos currently going on in Austria's she couldn't help but let out a loud laugh, silently deciding that she should wake up Poland soon so they can go back and find out exactly what is going on.

* * *

**Translations and shizzz**

**French:**

**Je t'aime, stupide Anglais. - I love you, you stupid Englishman (Kinda obvious but ooooh well)**

**Italian:**

**Dannazione Spagna! - Dammit Spain!**

**Buongiorno Romano! - Good morning, Romano!**

**Prendi il cazzo fuori di qui, Veneziano! - Get the fuck out of here, Veneziano!**

**Spanish:**

**Quiero Que Me Hagas El Amor, Italia. Quiero Que Seas Mío, Bésame? - I want you to make love to me, Italy. I want you to be mine, kiss me?**

**Hungarian:**

**Sok szerencsét, Ausztria. - Good luck, Austria.**

**(Think that's it, let me know if I missed any**)


	7. Chapter 6: The Afternoon

**So I decided to mix things up with this chapter, change things around, move away from the regular routine, and by that I mean I'm changing POV's but whatever, it's new and exciting and all that jazz.**

**Enjoy ;)**

* * *

_England_

* * *

England could not fathom what France was up to. Honestly, he had no clue.

And he knew she had to be up to _something _because never before had she been so concerned when she'd said something stupid to piss him off -they were not _temper tantrums, France, _he hadn't thrown a temper tantrum in a good many years.

The more he'd thought about it, though, the less stupid it seemed, and as much as he absolutely _loathed _to say it, because it went against everything he claimed to stand for, she had brought up some valid points. Everything she'd said was true, and he had no idea what to think about that, or just what it meant... about them and... What _was _their relationship? How did he feel about her, really, without the clouded goggles of bias? Eugh, this was giving him a headache.

It was so much easier when all he wanted to do was stomp her face into the-

That wasn't even true, his teenage hormones wouldn't have let that be true, and even if he'd never admit it out loud, because heavens knows France would never let him live it down, but she was absolutely gorgeous. Yes, even _he _could appreciate her asse- aesthetics.

He sighed to himself, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, "_Fucks sake England,_" He grumbled to himself, "_You call yourself a gentleman and then you go thinking things like that._"

A small part of his brain told him that it couldn't really be helped, and attempted to drift to one of the times he was sober enough to remember their encounters, but he shut it down with a swift and violent shake of the head. "_Calm down old boy, this is not the time nor is it the place,_" he said, once again to himself, then sighed, gritting his teeth, "_I'm too old for this._"

"Talking to yourself again?" France asked amusedly, probably expecting an annoyed answer about his faerie friends.

"Yes, this time." He replied.

She looked a little taken aback for a moment, "Anything I should know about?" she asked, her tone full of confusion and what seemed like worry.

"If I had wanted you to know would I have said it in English?" he shot back smoothly with a raised eyebrow.

"Excuse me for showing some concern about you-"

"That's just it!" England snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation and making France take a step back in shock at the outburst, "Why are you all friendly all of a sudden?"

"We are-"

"And none of your bullshitting around the answer either, tell me straight or I'm leaving!"

She bit down on her lip, a frown of worry creasing her brow, "You really want to know?" she said, inching closer.

"Would I have asked otherwise?"

"You're sure?"

As she walked her hips swayed alluringly, her lips pursing and eyelashes fluttering around her perfectly done makeup, and England would be a liar if he tried to tell you he didn't find it attractive, because even the gayest of men and the straightest of women would have done so. He frowned deeply, "Stop playing around!"

She was stood in front of him, looking up at him with a mixture of indecision and worry, and he _really _wished he knew what on earth she was thinking, because her cryptic answers and even more cryptic questions were just serving to irritate him.

He huffed out a breath through his nose, "Fra-"

And then she was kissing him, and his mind stopped working.

* * *

_America_

* * *

Canada had confiscated his novels on the grounds that they were unrealistic and completely irrelevant to the task at hand. America disagreed, naturally, he didn't see any reason that he couldn't find his quirky southern sweetheart to sweep him off his feet and go on romantic walks complete with cute little kisses and have steamy sex after a long stint of separation...

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't had sex in a while. He should probably fix that after he was finished with the whole Iggy business, because there's no way that he can get England laid and not himself, that would just be embarrassing.

"Canada?" He asked, leaning a little closer to his brother, who was frowning at a box of what looked like some kind of cake. Canada hummed his acknowledgement, turning the box over.

"Do you think Belarus would do me?"

Canada's eye widened for a moment, looking blankly in shock at nothing in particular, "Excuse me?"

"You're banging Ukraine, right?"

Canada turned to him with a frown, "We're in a relationship, yes." He said a little irritably.

America rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, tom_a_to-tom_ah_to," he said, leaning against the shelf, "Do you think her sister would do me?"

Canada's turned back to the box, the frown still present on his face, "I think her _brother _is more likely to do you."

"Dude," America said with a grimace, "Ew."

Canada began walking away, huffing out, "Yeah, yeah, whatever Al," irritably.

"Fuck, Dude, what did I do this time?"

Canada turned abruptly, flicking America in the centre of the forehead with a frown, "Stop treating women like objects, you pig."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," He said, with another flick, "So stop it! Maybe if you actually tried dating every once in a while rather than random fuck-and-go's you wouldn't have to live out your life through Nicholas Sparks novels."

America frowned, "We can't _date _Canada," he said, his tone steeled, and a hard set in his jaw and eyes, "We can't fall in love, we can't grow old together, we can't have kids in a cute little house in suburbia, and we sure as hell can't have a happy ending, so what is the point?"

Canada looked taken aback for a moment, before a sad look washed over his face, "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Try and tell me it's not true, I dare you," America continued, folding his arms over his chest.

"America," Canada began, placing a hand softly on his brother's shoulder, "I get it, I do, wanting to be all pessimistic and think the worst of the world, but living that way is going to get you nowhere. Think about it this way, if you don't _try_ then you _can't _date, if you don't _want to_ then you _can't _love, and sure, you can't have little babies or a cute little house in suburbia, but guess what Al? Life isn't a crappy romance novel, there aren't any happy endings, people -nations- grow apart, it happens, and that sucks, but it was great while it lasted. Do you know what I feel when I look at Ukraine? Because if it's not love then I don't know what it is." He smiled a little, "And you love me, eh? As your brother. How is loving anyone else so different?"

America's eyes were unfocused, staring at the ground in thought, "I- you..." He tried, but couldn't seem to unjumble this thoughts as they flip-flopped around his head. As much as he hated to admit it, Canada had a point, but he couldn't just- he knew his emotions just fine, he'd never felt -let himself feel- that way about anyone human or nation, and, now... he was wondering if it was just himself being stubborn. He'd told himself for so long that to be free he had to be on his own, he couldn't let another nation worm their way into his heart, because then they had power over him, and no one could have power over him, but-

He felt finger's on his cheeks, and he looked up to see Canada smiling softly at him, "You big cry-baby," he smiled, wiping at the tears he could feel rolling down his face, "You know I'm right." America opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off quickly by the other, "You know I'm right or else you never would have suggested this insane scheme in the first place. Now," he let go of America's face, and turned down the aisle, "Now, let's go and help England and France fall in love, and then, we'll work on you."

America scrubbed the tears from his cheeks, and ran after him, with just a hint of a smile on his face.

* * *

_Romano_

* * *

Fucking Veneziano needed to learn what knocking was. Eugh, just thinking about that morning made him want to bury himself six feet under and never crawl back out.

He forced himself not to think on it too much, Vene didn't know what he was doing half the time, he probably hadn't even considered that they'd be doing anything. And no, he wasn't stupid enough to think his brother didn't perfectly well know what sex was, _unfortunately _Vene knew very well, and no thanks to that German asshole either, he was sure. He was so... German... What about that was attractive? No, really, he'd love to know, because he had no clue.

But he was getting off topic, Vene knew exactly what they would be doing because he was the one who told him to go for it...

_"Romano?" He asked in an uncharacteristic whisper, pulling Romano aside into their dining room and away from Spain and Germany._

_ "What is it Vene?" Romano replied with a hint of suspicion and a furrow to his brows._

_ "When we go out dancing tonight I want you to watch _Spagna_ very closely," He said seriously, and now Romano was worried._

_ "Why?"_

_ Veneziano smiled softly, "Because she loves you and I see it every time she looks at you and I want you to see it too!"_

_ "What do you-"_

_ "I'm tried of watching you pine over her," Veneziano sighed, "I want to see you happy because you're my brother and I love it when you smile!"_

_ "You think _Spagna_ loves me?" He asked after a shocked moment of silence. He shook his head, impossible, no way, not Spain, not cheerful, amazing, drop-dead-gorgeous Spain. She still thought of him as her charge, she must, she called him cute all the time an pinched his cheeks and always went on about how much she missed him when he went back to his own country and..._

_ Veneziano grabbed him by the cheeks, nodding happily, "I do, just watch her, you'll see!"_

_ And then he just flitted off without a care for the utter turmoil and confusion he'd left his brother in..._

Of course, now he knew his brother was right, well, he'd known as soon as he'd seen the way she looked at him while they were dancing together, and then when she was dancing on her own. He wasn't exactly sure what made him take her outside and practically assault her, but it was worth it in the end because Spain was a _really _good kisser, a little clumsy some might say, but he'd chock that up to excitement, since she'd known exactly what she was doing that morning.

He groaned, leaning over to place his face in his hands where they lay on the countertop in front of him, why did they have to be interrupted?

"What's wrong?"

Romano turned his head, his face holding a carefully neutral expression, "Nothing," He replied as flatly as he could as Spain trotted up beside him and placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, "What gave you the impression anything was wrong?"

"You're leaning on a counter with your face in your hands and groaning," she said, elbowing him in the side.

He snorted a little, "I'm fine, just thinking,"

"About...?"

"None of your business."

"You were thinking about this morning weren't you?" He could practically feel her smug grin digging into the side of his head so he turned his head to stick his tongue out at her childishly.

"No," He said stubbornly.

She chuckled a little, her fingers twining themselves with his in a deliberate way, "You know, I don't mind picking up where we left off..."

He shook his head, "I'm not risking it, we can wait a few more days until we're back at your house."

She huffed out an irritated breath and he chuckled, "Why such a rush?"

She frowned, "There's no rush 'Mano, I just," she turned them so that they were pressed up against each other, "I want to be with you, I love you."

He blushed a little at her words, at the stupid fluttering of his chest and the flood of emotion, "Me too," he said quietly, "But we waited this long, are you trying to tell me you can't wait any longer?"

She raised an eyebrow, "No, I'm trying to tell you I don't want to."

He smirked as a thought came to him, "How about we compromise," he said, drawing lines up and down her spine with her finger, "Vene is out, and I couldn't give less of a shit about _Germania_, so let's say we go upstairs and see if my head fits as well between your thighs as I think it will, eh?"

She seemed to think on that for a moment, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, "Only if you let me find out how well that curl of yours really works."

* * *

_Germany_

* * *

Germany had left the house as soon as he'd heard the first moan, because quite honestly he had absolutely _no _desire to listen to the two of them having sex.

He shivered a little in the brisk air of the afternoon, having not had the foresight to grab a coat as he fled the house, but he wasn't all that cold, especially not in Rome, where cold wasn't _really _a thing, just sort of less warm than normal. Well sure _Italy _thought it was cold, but Italy was about as hardy as an over-ripe peach, so he didn't weight Italy's opinion on this particular matter overly highly.

He wondered absently how Italy had noticed -when Romano was about the opposite of an open book and Spain was some kind of tomato-flavoured enigma- that the two of them care for each other _that _way. He wasn't trying to imply that _he _should have noticed, because as had been proven on many an occasion and much to Italy's eternal and not entirely obvious chagrin, that when it came to matters of the heart he wasn't exactly a romance nation, despite neighbouring one, and befriending another.

He tried to think if it was a family thing...

Well, it certainly wasn't from Austria, that man had married more countries than he cared to name. He wasn't sure about Switzerland, he didn't seem to lack knowledge, just interest. Prussia then? Maybe, but he remembered how enamoured with 'Old Fritz' she'd been, and if he were being honest, she probably just didn't fall in love again after him...

He shook his head, not entirely sure how he'd let himself get sidetracked in thought and made a mental note to stop letting Italy rub off on him so much.

"Oh _Germania_!"

Speaking of Italy...

"What're you doing out here? I thought you had work to do? Oh, if I'd known you'd be done this soon I would have waited for you."

He smiled softly as the Italian ran up to him, "It's fine _Italien_," he said, patting him on the back as he was wrapped in a tight hug, "I just wanted some fresh air."

He considered, briefly, telling Italy why he was _really _ out of the house, but for one thing he didn't really want to talk about it, and for another he really didn't think Italy needed to know. If their situations were reversed, he certainly hoped that Italy would save him from the mental images of Prussia having sex... He grimaced, _really _hoped.

"Are you okay _Germania_?"

Germany glanced down at Italy's frown of concern for a moment, an expression that really didn't suit him, nodding gently, "I'm fine _Italien_, let's go and get some hot chocolate."

Italy lit up a little at his words, "Okay, and afterwards we can go for a walk in the park!"

He nodded again, leading Italy away from the house and discretely plucking his shopping bag from his hand, "Okay, _Italien._"

* * *

_Austria_

* * *

Prussia, as of about ten minutes ago, seemed to have decided that sitting in his practice room, on the sofa behind his grand piano, and singing loudly and slightly off key along with what he was playing was, in fact, a good idea.

He liked Prussia, really he did, or at the very least he tried to. She had her moments, like that morning in fact, where she seemed so different, so mature, so... old. They were all old, he knew that, there was hardly a single one of their kind of whom he could say that he'd never seen a flash of their age in their eyes, though some definitely made it easier than others. France, for example, every time she wasn't talking to someone, given a moment alone, she would seemingly drift off into memories, her age tickling at her eyes, not that he'd ever say that, because that was a sure-fire way to end up with a hard slap to the face. Prussia was different though, she did a very good job of hiding things, despite her seemingly open-book personality, so he hardly ever noticed her brief flashes of age.

This morning had him thinking though, she'd talked to him as if she were her age, and, if were being honest, she almost seemed... well, human, while at the same time, seeming anything but. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became, because Prussia didn't talk, she didn't share, and she most certainly never acted her age if she could help it, so what on earth had made her change? And Excuse his scepticism, but he doubted it was because Germany had told her to get her act together, because he'd been doing _that _for decades.

For some reason his mind flickered back to the evening before, she'd flirted with him, none too subtly either, and with no clue what she was up to, he'd panicked. What else was he supposed to do? Prussia didn't like him beyond pulling pranks on him and laughing about it later, or so she so often claimed, so why had she come to his house, after _asking _him in an at least semi-polite way, flirted with him, got him drunk, slept with him -more than once if the empty condom wrappers he'd found and hidden from her were any indication- and more to the point, he'd _let _her sleep with him, with seemingly no objections -because he certainly wasn't _that _drunk, but apparently drunk enough to think that she was absolutely gorgeous when she was flushed and growling out '_faster, Gott verdammt, Österreich, ja! Bitte!'_ because Prussia didn't _beg _either- then the next morning done an almost complete 180 and become a person that he was sure that only a handful of people knew about.

He hated it. He didn't know what to think, because he'd never once before considered that Prussia could be like that -not in however many hundreds of years he'd known her- and this new side of her had made his stomach do all kinds of things, good and bad, some of them both depending on how you looked it. And he _really _didn't like that _Prussia _of all people could make his stomach flip flop all over the place.

He looked up at her briefly, she had her legs in the air, kicking them up and down as if she were riding a bike, ever with an excess of energy. She glanced over at him, as if she had caught him doing something indecent, a smug kind of smile tugging at him lips.

"Gazing at my gorgeous legs?" She asked stretching them out above her as if to show them off.

"_Nein_." He replied quickly, a little too quickly really, but it seemed that she didn't notice either way.

"Really?" she said with an exaggerated pout.

"Yes, really."

She slipped off the sofa, trotting over to the piano bench with a strange expression on her face. She seemed to hesitate over something for a brief second before plopping herself down on the piano bench beside him and looking up at him expectantly, "Play something for me." It wasn't a request, not so far as Austria could tell, but he decided to make it into one.

"Ask nicely."

She rolled her eyes, "_Bitte, Österreich,_ play me some music?"

He regarded her for a moment, and the look in her eyes he couldn't quite place, before he sighed to himself and placed his fingers to the keys.

About halfway through the song he felt a weight on his shoulder. He started for a brief moment, too brief to disrupt his playing and since he didn't _really _need to look at the piano to play it, he chanced a look to his side to see that Prussia was indeed leaning on him, a peaceful look on her face as her eyes stayed fixed on his fingers as they danced over the keys. She really was rather beautiful like this, when she wasn't being loud or obnoxious, it allowed him to appreciate her for-

He was snapped back to reality rather quickly as he fumbled a note, the tune falling gracelessly apart. He sighed deeply, starting to lift his fingers from the keys before Prussia stopped him, "Don't stop now," she said, squeezing his fingers in her rough hands, "It was almost done, keep going."

He frowned at her for a moment, unsure of what to make of her gesture, "I thought..." he began dumbly, making her look up at him questioningly, "Never mind."

She stopped him once again before he could begin playing, placing her hands atop his, "Actually, scratch that. Teach me."

"Teach you?"

"Yeah," she grinned, "Something simple, like _'Bruder Jakob'_."

"Since when have you wanted to play the piano?" he asked, his voice a little breathy with disbelief.

"Since about twenty seconds ago," she replied honestly with a shrug, "I have a lot of free time these days."

Once again, he saw the flash of age in her eyes, and he felt a tug at his chest. He nodded, taking her hands and positioning them above the keys, "Here's the first note..."

* * *

_Poland_

* * *

"_Węgry! Węgry mówić wolniej_!" Poland grumbled sleepily into his phone, well aware that it was past midday, but not caring because it was Hungary's fault for keeping him up all night with that stupid stake-out.

"I don't mean to be some kind of debbie-downer here," he said, interrupting whatever her reply was, "But you, like, kept me up all night and I'm totally exhausted here."

"Don't be such a baby, _Lengyelország,_" she replied, and he could picture her rolling eyes as he collapsed backwards onto the bed.

"I'm not being a baby," he groused, "Babies get to sleep, like, whenever they want. Babies have _the life_."

"It's almost two in the afternoon, don't you have responsibilties?"

"Not if I choose to ignore them," he closed his eyes, already feeling sleep calling back to him, "And aren't you just trying to drag me off to watch _Prusy_ having totally steamy sex with your ex again anyway?"

"Not at all," Hungary snapped, a little haughtily, "_Ausztria _won't let himself get that drunk again, I'm making a proposition,"

He waited for a moment for her to continue before he realized she wanted prompting, "What is it? I don't, like, have all day, I could be sleeping right now!"

She huffed out an irritated note through the receiver, "I want you to help me kidnap Prussia and turn her into a woman _Ausztria _can't help but ravish late into the night."

Poland thought on that for a moment, "No thank you, I feel like keeping my limbs attached to my body."

"_Lengyelország_! _Kérem_!"

He sighed after a moment more, feeling her wide puppy-dog eyes through the phone, "Fine!" He conceded, "But I want _at least _another hour of sleep before you two show up here or whatever."

"_Köszönöm Lengyelország! Maga csodálatos_!" she said happily, as Poland dug his head deep into his pillow.

"_Dobra, dobra, daj mi spać._"

* * *

**Not many translations in this one, well, that makes my job easier...**

**German:**

**Gott verdammt, Österreich, ja! Bitte! - Goddamn it, Austria, yes! Please!**

**Polish:**

**Węgry - Hungary**

**Węgry! Węgry mówić wolniej! - Hungary! Hungary talk slower!**

**Dobra, dobra, daj mi spać. - Okay, okay, let me sleep.**

**Hungarian:**

**Lengyelország - Poland**

**Lengyelország! Kérem! - Poland! Please!**

**Köszönöm Lengyelország! Maga csodálatos! - Thank you Poland! You're amazing!**

**'Bruder Jakob' is sung to the same tune as 'Frere Jacques'**


	8. Chapter 7: The Afternoon (Cont)

**HAHAHAHAHAH... HAHA... haha... ha.. Sorry.**

**Yeah, so I haven't updated this thing in ages... I honestly don't know what happened guys I'm sorry. But it's here now, so, yeah!**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

_France_

* * *

It was nice, kissing England, sometimes.

It was hard to apply a flavour to him. He neither tasted good nor bad, he just tasted like England, and that, she supposed, made him taste good in his own right. It was a mixture of everything and nothing at all, a possible combination of his imagination and his palate, she mused, but not in a bad way.

It was also hard to apply a feeling to him. His lips were somehow moist and chapped at the same time, and kissing him was always strange for that reason, but again, not strange in a bad way, strange in an _England _way, which had always been a rather special kind of strange in her opinion.

Something even nicer about kissing England was when he kissed back.

And to her absolute amazement, after a long moment of stiffness from him, and her heart falling like a stone straight into her stomach, just as she began to pull back, he lifted a hand to her waist, another to her cheek, closed his eyes and kissed her back.

Oh, it was nice, kissing England... sometimes...

She sighed into his mouth as she slid her hands back up his chest from where they'd fallen away, up and over the shirt that was nicer than any of the ones he'd owned in his life, and up to his neck. She was unsure at what point during the kiss she completely forgot about the bet, about any money she might make or lose, or any bragging she'd be able to do, and let her heart beat rapidly at the thought of being so tangled up in _England_ of all people. At some point she also realized that the bet was stupid and she didn't care if she had to buy her friends drinks for years if it meant she could kiss England like this all the time. She smiled, her stomach doing strange little happy flips that she hated and loved at the same time, curled her fingers into his coarse hair, letting her tongue flick out of her mouth and over his rough lips and-

He jerked away suddenly, his eyes wide as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just done.

And then he fled, like a scared rabbit from a fox, out of the apartment to she didn't know where.

And it dawned on France that that was quite possibly the worst idea she'd ever had.

As soon as she heard the door close, with a disconcertingly soft click, she sat down, exactly where she was, in the middle of the floor, and let her head fall into her hands.

She laughed self-deprecatingly, "_Et tu t'appelles le pays de l'amour._"

* * *

_Canada_

* * *

"Bro, are you sure this is going to work?" America asked, eyeing the items in the shopping bag, "I mean, you can't seriously tell me that they're going to agree to have a sweet little picnic in a cute little park."

Canada shook his head, "Not with each other," he said, snatching the bag and placing a few of the items in the picnic basket he had balanced precariously on a pile of bed sheets, "I expect them to go on a picnic with their two beautiful..." he frowned, hesitating on exactly what to say before seeming to settle on, "Former colonies, who want to have a nice afternoon with their former guardians."

America raised an eyebrow at his brother, seemingly a little ticked at the mention of any kind of relationship with England before the revolutionary war that didn't involve either tea or harbours, "Yeah, 'cause that'll make them wanna be dragged all over Paris in the cold."

"It's not cold, it's not even snowing, and have you got a better idea?" Canada shot back a little bitterly, almost wishing that he'd go back to crying again, just so he wasn't such a self-entitled douche, "'Cause last I checked the best plan you had was reading the Notebook."

"I was getting to it!" America protested, folding his arms childishly over his chest as Canada shot him a dry look.

Canada rolled his eyes, picking up the basket and heading for the door, "Come on, or else they'll have gotten bored on their own and left to go somewhere and we'll never find them."

They spent most of the short journey between their hotel and France's apartment in content silence, America fiddling with something on his phone, and occasionally growling out something low under his breath, "What're you doing?" Canada asked curiously, leaning over to see what he was so intently glaring at.

"Russia keeps beating my Tetris high score," he ground out, "I know he invented the fucking game but I don't know how he does it. It's like he's taunting me, every time I beat his he beats mine by exactly ten points, exactly one hour later!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I always beat him on the ice."

"Yeah, but that's like what you _do_," America groaned, "Beat people with hockey sticks, apologize, then go home and guzzle maple syrup together. It's like that except what I'm good at is video games and fighting, if you tried to invade me, for example, you'd be pulp within about four seconds."

Canada huffed a little, "One, just because I'm a pacifist doesn't mean I'm a push over. And two, I think we both know that you already spend too much on your military."

America rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, every other country under the sun has told me that too-"

"Not to mention that you really shouldn't be so casual to throw your money around especially since you still owe China all that money..."

America waved that one off casually, "Pfft, don't worry about it, I'm slowly paying him back in sexual favours."

Canada stopped in his tracks for a moment before running a little to catch up with America who hadn't bothered to stop, "What do you mean you're paying him back in sexual favours?"

"I mean if I give him a hand job he takes of $500,000, a blowjob $1,000,000, and if I let him do me up the ass he takes off $5,000,000."

"Isn't that prostitution?"

America seemed to think about that a little, "... Probably, but it's not like I don't enjoy it. And hey, what other hooker can say they charge $5,000,000 a pop?"

They climbed the stairs to France's apartment in silence, their conversation having abruptly ended as Canada struggled to find a response to that particular comment.

When they knocked on the door, it opened within only a few seconds, France peering out from the door with a hopeful expression that abruptly fell as soon as she saw them. She put on a fake smile, "Oh, hello," she said with a disconcerting level of false cheerfulness, "What can I do for you boys?"

"We heard England was staying with you," Canada said, eyeing France up worriedly, "And-"

"We wanted to invite you guys out to lunch!" America finished, with just enough cheer to hide his own worry.

"_Désolé, mes petits, _he left not too long ago."

"Oh..." The two chorused in a tone that was a mixture of disappointment and concern.

She laughed, a forced sound, not that anyone but the two of them would notice, "I'm sorry you came all this way, I'm quite busy you see, perhaps another time?"

"Okay France, another time..."

"_Au Revoir_."

The door closed in front of them, and they both turned to each other, "She was acting weird right?" America asked with a grimace, "That wasn't just me?"

"No, no," Canada replied, mirroring his expression, "I noticed it too, do you think it has something to do with England?"

"Probably, did you see that weird twitch her eye did when we mentioned him?"

Canada nodded, "Should we try to talk to him?"

America thought on that for a moment, before his face lit up in that dangerous way it did when he had a horrible idea. "I have a plan, and it's way better than your lame-ass picnic!"

"Hey-!"

"No, no, Canada, bro, listen to me for a sec, it's the perfect plan! Come on!" he as good as ran toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, Canada struggling to keep up with him, and hoping to god that there were no shotguns or aliens involved.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

Spain let out a heavy, shuddering breath through her nose, letting her head fall back against the pillows. After a moment she opened her eyes, letting them lazily find themselves focusing on Romano's smug expression, she laughed breathily, "I would ask where you learnt that, but I'm not sure I want to know."

He stood, his hands lingering on the insides of her thighs for a moment as he crawled up her body to settle between them. She lazily reached up a hand to bring him down into a kiss, tasting herself on his lips, but not caring in the slightest. He smirked into the kiss, pulling away after a moment, "I have a reputation to uphold," he said, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger, "Can't have _un italiano _being a bad lover, can we?"

She shook her head, bringing him in for another kiss, "_No, no, por supuesto que no._ Not that I thought you _could _be a bad lover anyway 'Mano."

He chuckled, "Flattery will get you nowhere,"

"I don't know where else it could take me."

He smiled softly for a moment, trailing a line of kisses down her jaw, "_Sei così bella,_" he whispered against her ear, his teeth nipping at her earlobe briefly as he did.

She smiled, "Flattery will get you nowhere."

He raised his head, narrowing his eyes, "You're funny," he said dryly, making her laugh and tug him down by the collar of his open shirt to wrap her arms around his neck securely.

"I know," she smiled, "I can't help it."

He frowned for a short moment, as if a thought had just occurred to him, and his eyes rather suddenly darted away from hers', before she could ask what it was though, he spoke, "_Spagna_?" he said, his voice making it sound as if he were deep in thought, "What made you-" he paused, licking his lips, "Vene told me you'd-" he growled a little as he struggled to put what he wanted to say into words, "Whe- Why now?"

Spain furrowed her brows in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"You only started flirting with me recently, well, that I noticed, why?"

Spain panicked for a moment, absolutely certain that if she were to say the real reason the chances that she'd ever be able to be with him, in any capacity really, would be reduced to practically zero. She reached up to touch his cheek tenderly, hiding her real emotions in favour of sending him a small smile, "I just got a little push to get what I want, and it worked, didn't it?"

He snorted, "I guess we're the same then, was it Vene with you too?"

His extremely sudden change in mood startled her, but she laughed a little at his comment, "He set up the flamenco for us."

Romano raised a surprised eyebrow at her, "Really? How did he know I like it when you dance flamenco?"

Spain smirked, "Everyone loves it when I dance flamenco."

Romano snorted, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, well it's sexy," he said leaning down to press a few kisses up her neck, "You look so free, get this fire in your eyes, I just wanna-" he dragged his teeth lightly across her skin, "Sink my teeth in."

She let out a soft gasp, "Well, what's stopping you?"

He let his lips linger for a short moment before she felt them twist up, "Nothing."

* * *

_Veneziano_

* * *

"Yes, I'm with Italy."

"No, why would I-"

"Yes, Romano and _Spanien_ are still here."

"Why don't you just ask Spain?"

"Of course it's that easy."

"I'm not telling you-!"

"I'm not emotionally stunted!"

"Nor am I sexually frustrated!"

"I don't know!"

"Yes, _Italien _and I helped with that last night."

"Well, I saw them kiss, I'm not sure what else you want."

"No, I told you I don't know!"

"Goodbye _Preußen_!"

Veneziano looked over at Germany curiously as he hung up the phone with an irritated grunt, "Was that _Prussia_? What did she want?"

Germany frowned a little at his phone, "She seemed really interested in what _Spanien_ and Romano were doing. I have no idea why, she wouldn't tell me."

"Maybe she was rooting for the two of them too, maybe _Spagna _was planning to sweep him off his feet, and just went along with it when we decided to help."

Germany shrugged, "Maybe... _Preußen _is probably someone who would try to set something like that up."

"See," Italy smiled, "Nothing to worry about! Now, drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold!"

"_Ja, okay._"

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

"Why are we going there?"

"I said, you'll see."

"I hate this."

"You made that clear already."

"Was it necessary to knock me out and tie me up in the back of your car?"

"Completely. You'd never have come willingly."

Prussia groaned and resigned herself to her fate, sending a hateful look at Hungary but deciding that her lack of answers were infinitely more annoying than her questions would be, and shutting up.

The car pulled up at Hungary's house not too long after that, Prussia struggling to sit up enough to see out of the window but ending up flopping around like a beached whale until she found herself lodged in the foot well between the front seats and the back seats. She huffed, blowing her hair out of her face.

Hungary chuckled as she opened the door, "Alright down there, _Poroszország_?"

"Shut up and help me," Prussia snapped a little irritably in response. Hungary grabbed her by her feet, dragging her out unceremoniously until she was sat, red-faced, on the driveway of Hungary's house, "I hope you're pleased with yourself."

She did her best to restrain a smirk, but didn't really succeed as she said, "A little, yes."

Prussia's phone chimed, and she looked down toward where it sat in her pocket, "Can you get that, or let me go so I can."

Hungary smirked a little, reaching down and feeling around Prussia's pocket for a moment, before pulling out the buzzing object, "It's from _Spanyolország_," she said, unlocking the phone, "She says that you should 'get your money ready' because she's 'as good as won the bet already'. What bet?"

Prussia didn't answer for a moment, panic sparking in her features, "_Oh Scheiße! Jetzt schon?_" her voice raised a couple octaves, "It's only been like two days, not even that!"

"What was the bet?" Hungary asked again.

"Just that we would each choose someone to go after and whichever one of us sleeps with them first gets the others to buy their drinks for the next two months." Prussia found herself confessing before she really thought about what she was saying, immediately regretting it as soon as she saw the dark look that had come over Hungary's face.

"So you were just after Austria for free beer?"

Prussia hastily backtracked, "No! No! I wanted to- I mean he's- It's not that!"

Hungary's face didn't soften any as she raised an eyebrow, "Go on."

"I mean, I've been looking for a reason to actually- He's pretty, y'know... And a nice guy once you get past the aristocrat-ness, so I- I don't know, I guess this was just justification."

"So you _do _have feelings for Austria? Because I'll have you know that if you just plan to play with his feelings and throw him away then, as his friend, I'm obligated to beat you into the ground."

"No, I do! I just don't know exactly what they _are_."

Prussia bit her lip, frowning in thought but maintaining eye contact. Hungary was surprised by the uncharacteristically submissive gesture, and that made her face soften some and a small smile come to her lips.

"I want to help you, _Poroszország, _that's why you're here. Just don't play around with his feelings, the guy doesn't need another heartache, goodness knows he's had enough failed marriages to last a lifetime."

Prussia snorted a little, "Well, I normally wouldn't accept the help, but as you can see, I'm running out of time."

She nodded, a business-like expression coming to her face as she leant down to untie the other woman, "Well, we should probably get started then."

* * *

_Hungary_

* * *

A bet.

She probably should have expected as much.

She was sceptical, naturally, it was sensible, as with anything which Prussia was involved in. However, she was a reasonable woman, and as a reasonable woman she was prepared to give Prussia the benefit of the doubt this time around, since the look in her eyes wasn't the one who was trying to get with the guy just for free booze, although she had no doubts in her mind that it sweetened the deal enough for her to finally put aside her awkward German-ness with the opposite sex -honestly there were times when she wasn't surprised at all that her and Germany were siblings.

"So I'm sure I can guess who you made this bet with, but I'd still like to know what we're dealing with," She said, as Prussia hung up the phone with a huff.

"_Frankreich _and_ Spanien_," she replied, tapping her foot irritably against the ground, "_Frankreich _with_ England _and_ Spanien _with Romano. And _Spanien _seems to already be almost there!"

Hungary frowned a little, "This is a problem... What were the rules on sabotage?"

"Any form of sabotage will result in instant disqualification."

"Drat."

Prussia snorted, "_Drat_. Yeah, you see my problem. _Spanien _rigged it, she must have, there's no way she'd have succeeded already if not!"

Hungary shook her head, "The two of them always adored each other, and I heard _Olaszország_ was making plans to make them confess to each other too."

Prussia huffed out an irritated note, "Musta... Eugh, why is that guy such a prude!"

"_Ausztria?_"

"_Nein, Russland._" Hungary sent her a pointed look, making Prussia roll her eyes, "_Ja, Österreich._"

"You've already had sex with him."

Prussia's eyes widened for a moment, and that's when Hungary realized what she'd said and let out an awkward laugh, "How did you-"

"I happened to be in the neighbourhood."

"That's really-" Prussia made a face, "Really, kinda creepy."

Hungary rolled her eyes, "What else is new, do you need me to list all the creepy thing _you've _done in your life?"

Prussia shook her head, pointedly not looking at Hungary, "No, I get it, let's drop it. So do you have a plan or what?"

Hungary nodded happily, "I say we go on with the previous plan and hope that Romano can't get it up!"

Prussia snorted out a laugh, falling into a fit of giggles which it took her a little while to disperse. "Okay, what do you have?"

"I'm taking you shopping and then we're making dinner reservations for tomorrow. I'm going to make you into the woman of _Ausztria_'s dreams!"

"Overnight?"

Hungary grinned, "I love a good challenge!"

* * *

**Translating shit for you understanding pleasure:**

**French: **  
**Et tu t'appelles le pays de l'amour - And you call yourself the country of love**

**Spanish: **  
**No, no, por supuesto que no - No, no, of course not**

**Italian:**  
**Sei così bella - You're so beautiful**

**German:**  
**Oh Scheiße! Jetzt schon? - Oh shit! Already?**

**Hungarian:**  
**Spanyolország - Spain**  
**Olaszország - Italy**


	9. Chapter 8: The Next Day

**Whoa, a new chapter? I'm as amazed as you guys at this point...**

**Quickie note before we begin: I'm not gonna be uploading (Or at least not a lot) over the next two weeks, cause I'm gonna be on holiday, so yeah, that's a thing.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

_France_

* * *

Well, this sucked. It sucked _big time_, or whatever America said... _bummer, _was it?

Whatever the case, she felt awful, and all because of that stupid English-

Oh who was she kidding, she could keep blaming all her problems on him until she was blue in the face, but ultimately _she _was still the one draped over her couch wearing only an open dressing gown and opening her second bottle of wine.

She sucked in a long breath as she trailed a finger idly up and down her own stomach. She wondered -in the back of her mind which she usually never allowed to surface, but she'd consumed enough alcohol to let that part dance freely to the front of her mind- how England would touch her. Not when he was drunk and she was drunk and they were both too horny for their own good, no, she wanted to know what he'd be like as a _lover_.

She let her nails scrape over her lower stomach, before deciding that his blunt nails would never feel that way, and changing her movements so that only her fingertips made contact, lightly, gently. Then she decided that was wrong too and pressed harder, letting her hand slip down further to tangle in the hair which England had always hated, amongst other things, but that had never stopped him before.

She licked her lips, letting out a long and shuddering breath as she stared at the ceiling, and she could almost _feel _him creeping lower. She could have sworn she felt a puff of breath against her stomach and she groaned, letting her fingers slip lower to tease herself, because she was sure he would tease.

"Mmmn," she hummed, letting her eyes slip shut, and remembering her wine just in time to place it on the ground.

With her other hand free, she let it drift to her exposed breast, rubbing her palm lightly against it to the same rhythm as her fingers languidly rubbed elsewhere. And then she decided he wouldn't be languid, he'd be hard and fast, all heavy touches and utter passion, and she pressed harder, letting out a moan and not caring that her long nails were digging into herself, because imaginary England was kissing her thighs.

He'd kiss her everywhere. English kissing at its finest. And by the time they were done there wouldn't be an inch of her he hadn't tasted, oh and he'd bite too -her nails dug hard into her breast- deep, mercilessly, leaving marks all over her body so that the whole world knew exactly who she belonged to -a shuddering moan- and she'd bite him back, because he belonged to her too.

She panted heavily, as her fingers pressed into her own tight heat, her other hand moving down from her breast to join it, and soon she had a steady rhythm of squelches and moans to accompany the image of England who was watching her, hovering over her, his cock gripped in his hand, touching himself as she was touching herself, his eyes never leaving hers, and his mouth making the most heavenly noises.

It didn't take long for her to come, silently but for the mouthed form of England's name.

She lay there for a while, as her breathing evened out, before growling angrily at herself, wiping her fingers on her dressing gown, and downing the rest of her glass of wine, before heading for the bathroom for a long, cold shower.

* * *

_Canada_

* * *

"I have to say, I'm almost impressed," Canada said, crossing his arms over his chest.

America smiled a little triumphantly, "It's easy, three steps, well four if you count the steamy claustrophobic sex..."

"I was expecting aliens, but this is a lot more fanfiction, I like it."

America clapped his brother on the back, "I've read my fair share of Captain America fanfiction in my time brother, and don't you worry, this is going to work out fine."

"They wouldn't happen to be 'The Cap x Reader' fanfictions, would they?"

"That, Mattie, is none of your business." Which, of course, meant 'yes'.

Canada rolled his eyes, "You're such a Marvel fanboy."

"Pfft, Stucky is practically canon anyway-" America said, waving a dismissive hand as he ignored Canada's sceptical snort "-and I like DC just as much, but their movies suck balls." He smirked a little, "And you're hardly one to talk, Mr. I-asked-Japan-to-teach-me-moves-from-Naruto."

"That was once!"

America snorted, "Whatever dude, point is, I never asked him if he had real 3DMG gear, no matter how much I wanted to, look which one of us has the self control now!"

"Still me," Canada replied dryly, "I had a moment of weakness in the face of something I enjoy. You legitimately fainted when you met Beyonce."

"That's 'cause she's the queen dude! And you're one to talk, you got so flustered when you met Taylor Swift that she got worried for your health and offered to call a doctor."

"You did the same thing with Marilyn Monroe too, and don't forget that time you told Brad Pitt to his face that you wanted to have his babies."

"You own a shirt worn by Ryan Gosling. And sometimes you sleep with it!"

"He's a dream boat!"

"Yeah, well so it Brad Pitt! And at least I didn't drunkenly ask Nathan Fillion if he wanted to see how wet lake Ontario could make him!"

"Fuck you that line was gold, eh! What about that time you got a boner over Chris Evans playing Captain America? _Oh god the patriotism, he's so dreamy and spewing my manifesto please, Mr Evans, shove your-_"

"You know what dude, at least Captain America is a _thing_, ever heard of Captain Canada? No! And I bet if there _were _a Captain Canada you'd get a boner over him!"

"Nathan Fillion dressed up as Captain Canada, and I'll have you know, as sexy as he was I didn't pop a boner over it."

"You still drunkenly asked him-"

"I know! And had he taken me up on my offer he would have had the best night of his life!"

The two glared at each other in silence for a moment, before America cracked a grin, "Dude, at least we didn't do an England when he met the Beatles."

And with that they both burst into laughter.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

Spain found herself smiling dreamily as she lay lazily on her side of the bed, her hand drawing patterns over the pillow where Romano's head had laid just a minute or two earlier. Coffee was just about the only thing that could get him out of bed before her, and she could practically smell it from where she was.

There was little that could describe how happy she felt at the moment, and little that could make her happier until Romano returned with coffee kisses. She had no intention of getting out of bed to get them in advance though, even though it was past midday, they'd been up far too late and she was far too pleasantly sore for that. She had the strangest feeling that Germany and Veneziano had returned at some point, but she wouldn't be surprised if they'd left again, she would have if _they _were making as much noise as the two of them were last night.

She was so glad the bet had made her do this. As soon as she got out of bed she'd text Prussia and France to tell them the gig was up, but that could wait, she didn't really think either of them would successfully win the bet before she dragged herself out of bed.

The door creaked open, and she turned to it with a smile, "Oh, Romano, I-"

She stopped when she saw his face, dark and angry, tear tracks down his face, "Out."

She frowned in confusion, "Roma-"

"_Stai zitto!_" he snapped, "Get some clothes on then get the fuck out of my house!"

She couldn't find any words to say, as he turned around, a deep grimace on his face, as if he was disgusted to look at her, "If you're not out of my house in fifteen minutes I'm calling it an act of war," he said coldly, but she could still hear a shake of his voice which made her blood run cold. What had she done? What was so bad that he'd threaten _war_?

Whatever it was, she wasn't prepared to risk it, and as soon as he disappeared from the doorway she began to collect her things as quick as she could. In her experience, it was best to let Romano cool down. She'd call him later and they'd talk and everything would be fine... right?

As she was leaving, Romano's called out from behind her once more, from where he stood in the doorway his hand on the door, ready to slam it if he needed she was sure, and she turned to him, as she stood just outside, her eyes wide and pleading forgiveness for whatever she'd done. He didn't seem to register her pleading expression, a tear falling down his cheek as he threw something black and rectangular on the floor with a look of utter disgust, "I thought I meant more to you than wine," he said, and suddenly everything dawned on Spain and she felt like she was going to throw up, "I guess I was just as stupid as everyone thinks I am."

And then the door slammed in her face.

And she couldn't do anything but stand there.

After a moment, she sunk to the ground, picking up the phone and reading what was on the screen.

_From: Francia_

_To: Me_

_I forfeit the bet. It's just you and Prusse now. Good luck._

Spain's heart stopped for a moment, Romano must have heard her phone go off and read the message. Ignoring the news that France was officially out of the running, she forced herself to breathe as she read his reply.

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Francia_**

**_What?_**

_From: Francia_

_To: Me_

_I forfeit. I ruined my chances with Angleterre. I hope you all the best with Romano._

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Francia_**

**_What do you mean?_**

_From: Francia_

_To: Me_

_I was too forward. I scared him off. I hear you and Romano are doing great though, Prusse has her work cut out to get Autriche, I almost think I should just send you the money now._

That's where the messages ended, but she was sure Romano wouldn't have left it there, and with shaking fingers she went back to her messages and checked Prussia's.

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Prusia_**

**_How's the bet going?_**

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_Great actually! Hungary found out and wants to help me, so you better get in that Italian's pants pretty fucking soon._

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_Hey! Did you hear about Frankreich? Great right! I always knew that guy had too big a stick up his ass for even her to pull out._

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Prusia_**

**_Yeah, she already offered to send me the money._**

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_You mean she doesn't think I'll win?! _

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_And another thing? Is she bailing on us? I don't want to drink my victory beer if she's not there to brag to!_

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_Or if you win, victory wine._

_From: Prusia_

_To: Me_

_But you won't._

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Prusia_**

**_Yeah. That would be awful._**

**_From: Me_**

**_To: Prusia_**

**_But you know what? I have the feeling it will be victory beer._**

Spain choked, letting her phone fall down into her lap, ignoring the subsequent texts from Prussia.

How had she been so stupid? Leaving her phone around for him to see? So caught up in bliss that she hadn't thought that anything could go wrong.

She picked herself up shakily, gathering her wits enough to begin the walk to the train station, but not enough to stop the silent tears streaming down her face.

* * *

_Veneziano_

* * *

Germany had left as soon as they saw Romano curled up on the couch with tears down his face. It wasn't so much the crying as the fact that he didn't tell him to _'get the fuck out'_ or something to that effect, and Veneziano recognized that that terrified the German more than any insult his brother could throw carelessly at him.

He walked over to his brother carefully, sure to tell if his presence was welcome or not, and when he got no reaction he decided he was safe to kneel beside him and wipe the tears from his face.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Romano spoke, "I hate her."

Veneziano smiled and shook his head, brushing a gentle thumb over his cheek, "You don't-"

"I mean all of it!" he growled, new tears brewing in his eyes, "_Quella cagna mi ha mentito._"

"What did she-?"

"She slept with me for a fucking bet!" he said, his face twisting up into something small and vulnerable, "I'm a fucking moron, I knew it was too good to be true!"

Veneziano frowned, sure he was wrong, Spain wouldn't do something like that, she loved him, he saw it every time he looked at the two of them together. The look in her eyes wasn't fake, he knew that, "Are you-?"

"Sure? I heard it right from the mouths of her friends!" he curled up tighter on himself, "All she wanted was to get into my pants for some free fucking wine. Well jokes on her, 'cause guess who's paying for _Prussia_'s beer for however long now."

He growled deeply to himself, pushing himself up and off the couch, wiping at his face, "Romano where-?"

"_Grecia_." Was the short reply, but Veneziano knew what that meant.

"Romano, don't."

Romano didn't reply, marching determinedly out of the room, followed cautiously by Veneziano. He pulled on his shoes, grabbed a light jacket, and went to open the door before Veneziano stopped him with a hand over his own.

"Let me go Vene."

"Did you actually talk to her about it?"

"There's nothing to say. Let me _go _Vene."

"Please, Romano, she lov-"

"She doesn't give a fuck and neither do I! Now let me go Veneziano, before I have to break your wrist!"

Veneziano stepped back, eyes wide, tears brimming in his eyes that Romano guiltily regarded for a moment before he stepped out the door, and as good as slammed it in his brother's face.

Veneziano wasted no time after it had shut running to the phone and dialling a number.

"_Olá?_"

"_Ciao Portogallo, _I need to talk to you about _Spagna._"

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

"I'm not wearing a corset. I haven't worn a corset in almost two hundred years."

Hungary frowned as she lowered the garment, "But _Ausztria_ loves corsets!"

Prussia snorted, "_Österreich_ is going to need to get it off at some point tonight with any luck," she said, jutting out a hip, "And I'm not sure I trust him to be able to do it."

Hungary sighed, "He managed to get mine off well enough, _Spanyolország_ too!"

"I bet he didn't," Prussia grumbled, raising an eyebrow at her companion, "Bet he just loosened it."

Hungary pursed her lips, "I don't know who _you _have been sleeping with _Poroszország_, but some men actually _do _care about the comfort of their lovers."

"My point is," Prussia said, waving a dismissing hand, "I refuse to use a corset when I don't have to."

Hungary sighed, "I suppose that was too much to ask for anyway, will you at least wear something skin-tight? You have a gorgeous body, it's be a shame to hide it."

Prussia smirked, "Gorgeous huh? Sure _you _don't want to bed me?"

Hungary let out what could only be described as a giggle, "As fun as that sounds," she said, trotting over to the wardrobe to put away the corset, "I have other things on my mind."

Prussia regarded her for a moment, dressed as she was only in a pair of short shorts and a small shirt, it left little to the imagination, showing off exactly how _good_ Hungary was doing. She supposed she should be disappointed in herself for letting her mind wander _already_, but really, Hungary was good looking, she'd always been good looking, and with her standing right in front of her, the oportunity right there she found herself unable to care. She wasn't in a relationship with Austria _yet_, and she'd never dream of doing it without his permission when they were, so she might as well take the chance while she could.

Prussia slunk up behind her, holding onto her hips and pressing up against her back, "Are you sure,_ Ungarn_?"

She bit her lip amusedly, noticeably leaning into the touch, "You're supposed to be pursuing _Ausztria, _not me. What if he were to find out?" she asked, turning to Prussia with a hint of smug amusement.

She let her hands squeeze a little, running them up the other woman's sides, "He wouldn't mind," she said, "The perv would probably get off to it, just like you do." She dropped her head a little, pressing a kiss to Hungary's shoulder, "You know," she practically purred, "You should join in some time, just watching must get boring."

Hungary turned in her arms, letting her own fall over Prussia's shoulders despite Prussia being an inch or two shorter, leaning down to rub their noses together, a wry smile on her face, "You know, if you tried this on Austria and not me, you might have gotten somewhere already."

Prussia chuckled, "You think I haven't? I was sexier than this, and the_ Depp_ didn't even notice."

"Oh were you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you want me to show you?" Prussia asked, pushing against the other nation to force her gently back against the wall behind them, her hands leaving Hungary's waist and trailing up her body, slowly, ghosting up her sides and over her collar before taking her arms and pulling them up above her head, holding them at the wrist. With her free hand she touched her face, rough hands tracing her cheekbones, all while duel-tinted eyes wandered over her hungrily.

"Well," she breathed slowly, "Since you seem so keen."

Prussia smiled a little smugly, leaning up so their lips were almost touching, "And since you seem so eager."

And then Hungary tugged the woman into a kiss, hard and clawing, there was no tenderness to the kiss, just _want_. It was all lips and teeth and tongues pressing together through harsh breaths. It was suffocating, it was desperate, it was-

"I thought we were setting her up with _Austria_."

_Over_. It was over.

Hungary sighed, and they broke apart, sending a pointed look in the interrupting Pole's direction, and making Prussia snort in laughter, "You couldn't have waited a little while longer?"

He shook his head, "You act like I have the kind of time to, like, deal with you two getting all touchy-feely," He said, pursing his lips in what was probably irritation, "You two are supposed to go to dinner in, like, two hours, we don't have time for a quickie."

Prussia bit her lip to contain another laugh, leaning her forehead to lean on Hungary's neck, nipping at her collar playfully, "Not even a _quick _one?"

"Do you want to be late?"

Hungary pushed her off, "No, she doesn't, let's get her ready."

Prussia stepped back with a roll of her eyes. _Well, it was worth a shot._

* * *

_Hungary_

* * *

"Hey, _Ungarn_!" Prussia called, making Hungary look up from where she was folding the unused clothes.

"Hmm? What is it?" she asked, placing them to the side and turning to her.

"_Frankreich _has forfeited."

Hungary raised her eyebrows in surprise, if there was one nation who she thought would _never _back down from a challenge like this one, it was France, not in a million years. "Why?" she asked, confused.

Prussia shrugged, "She said something about '_scaring him off_'," she put her hands up in air quotes, shaking her head and turning back to her phone, "_Spanien_ is being really weird too."

"Weird how?"

"She's answering really quickly, and her answers are really short."

Hungary pursed her lips, "how long has this bet been going on? It seems to be taking a toll on the lot of you."

Prussia frowned in thought, "We made the bet about two weeks ago, but we've only been trying to get with them for a few days," she sighed, "It's all in good fun, I just..." she shook her head, "When I suggested it, I didn't think we'd all be so involved, y'know?"

Hungary remained silent, watching as Prussia picked at the carpet. She caught sight of Poland coming back into the room and made eye contact with him, subtly gesturing for him to go. He looked between them for a brief moment before nodding and leaving as quietly as possible. Luckily, it didn't seem that Prussia had noticed the exchange, and a few moments later she spoke again, "I thought we'd just get a crack outa it. I mean I picked toughies because I thought it would make it more interesting, but I should have picked people we didn't already-" she cut herself off, chewing on her lip, "It would have made it easier to stay... I dunno, _indifferent_, if things went bad."

Hungary made a noise of agreement, "Not your best plan."

Prussia sent a glare at her, "Not helping."

Hungary shrugged, "I'm just being honest, I think the whole idea of the bet was stupid. Don't bet on peoples' lives, not when emotions like love are at stake."

Prussia raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that exactly what you do?"

Hungary frowned at her, shaking her head, "I watch, I enjoy the love of others, I don't make bets that could very easily send Europe into crisis!"

Prussia dutifully shut up.

Hungary sighed, "I don't mean that I _hate _what you're doing, I just think there are better, less harmful ways to do it."

"I agree with you," Prussia said, "I just don't know what-"

"Don't worry about it," Hungary interrupted, trotting over to Prussia and turning her head up to look at her, "For now, forget about the bet and just enjoy your date."

Prussia sucked in a long breath before releasing it heavily, "You're right." She smiled widely, "This moping is the opposite of awesome! I'm gonna blow his gnarly socks off!"

Hungary smiled back, nodding resolutely, "You're gonna knock his gnarly socks off."

* * *

**Not many translations here, but here we go:**

**Italian:**

**Stai zitto! - Shut up! **

**Quella cagna mi ha mentito. - That bitch lied to me.**

**Honestly I think that's it, if I miss any let me know though.**


	10. Chapter 9: Some Time Later

**Y'KNOW WHAT I'M JUST GONNA POST THIS! I've re-written this like three times and I'm so done, I'm just gonna scrabble together the bits I hate the least and post it because god knows you guys have waited long enough. (With any luck the next chapter won't take quite as long, but I'm not making any promises 'cause I start up school again soon.)**

**(Also, thanks for the help Mac, you'll probably notice I stole at least a couple of your ideas ;D)**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

_England_

* * *

"I mean I know I've been saying this to you for years, but I just can't wrap my head around what that woman does. I mean, sometimes I'm sure she hates me, and sometimes I think she's actually rather fond of me, and other times I have absolutely no idea. The problem is that I don't know what to think about her because I never know what she thinks about me, and she just-"

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

England looked up at Belarus, who was regarding him with a dry sort of exasperation as she sipped at her tea. He let out a slightly exhausted breath, dropping his fists and turning away from the punching bag he'd been channelling all of his frustrations into. After a moment of eye contact, and England not being sure what expression his face was making, Belarus breathed out a small laugh and placed her tea carefully on the table that sat at her side.

"Tell me again what happened," she said, her face gentle in its reassurance.

"We were just talking, and then she... kissed me..."

"And that's a problem because...?"

"Because I don't know if she's mocking me or not!" England said, throwing his hands up in the air and somehow managing to knock the punching bag so it swung back and hit him heavily in the hip, sending him harshly to the side as he stumbled over his own feet. He took a deep breath, rubbing at his bound hands irritably, before turning back to the bag and treating it to several more frustrated punches. "I mean you of all people know how much I-" he choked a little on his words before continuing, taking a heavy breath with yet another hard punch to the bag, "_Care_ about her. Or at least _think _I care about her, I honestly have no idea what it is that woman does to me. But if she found out, there's no way to know if she'd just playing with my feelings or-"

"_Англія_," Belarus sighed, calling his attention back to her as she lifted her tea back to her lips, "I may not be a _'love guru_' or whatever _Францыя_ likes to call herself, or know _Францыя _particularly closely, I do, however know her well enough to say that she isn't one to play around with feelings like that."

England frowned thoughtfully, his face conflicted, his hands once again falling from the punching bag and making Belarus roll her eyes, place her tea back down, and walk over to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder in what she sincerely hoped was a comforting gesture, and it seemed to be at least a little because he sighed and turned to rest his forehead on her shoulder tiredly. "I just wish I knew what she actually felt for me. That woman is a fucking mystery that I have no idea how to solve."

Belarus petted his hair amusedly as he continued.

"We bicker like children, but I'm never sure if it's because we actually disagree anymore. It almost feels like I'm- _We're _just trying to find excuses to talk to each other these days. Tourism between us is at an all time high, and I can feel all her people flooding into my heart all the time and I can't tell whether it's a good feeling or a bad feeling, and I don't know if she can feel it too, because I don't know if she'd care to notice it. But I _always _notice it and it makes me feel like a fucking teenager again because I have no idea what I'm feeling and I hate it!"

Belarus smiled gently, "It certainly is an enigma, dear Watson," she said dryly, making England pull his head out of her neck and narrow his eyes at her, her own crinkling into a tiny smile.

"Perfect, now I'm Watson, I'm not even Sherlock," he slumped defeatedly, "I'm so useless I can't even work out what bloody _France _is thinking. I thought she was the one to always say to get your feelings out there, be honest with yourself, but here she is, kissing me and then giving me no idea what to think of it."

"Do you want to kiss her again?"

England frowned at her in confusion, "Well, I suppose so... I mean, she's- _Anyone _would... But I just don't know what she meant by it and-"

Belarus cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips with a stern expression. "Well, you hardly gave her time to explain herself, did you?"

England just sent her a dry look which made her chuckle.

There was a moment of silence before Belarus chuckled again, stroking a hand gently through his hair, making him smile a little, "You're thinking too much into it," she said, "Why do you not just talk to her?"

England scoffed, "_France_ and I haven't _talked _since I was under Rome's rule."

Belarus raised an eyebrow, "Then don't you think it's about time you do?"

And England honestly couldn't come up with a good reply to that.

* * *

_America_

* * *

"Okay, where the fuck did he go?" America grumbled as they walked away from England's house, having snuck in with the key under the small gnome in the back garden to find he wasn't home.

"Probably to one of his other houses," Canada replied tiredly, "But I really don't want to go to all of his houses in the hopes that we run into him. Especially if he decided to stay at one of the royal's estates or something."

America groaned, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes unattractively back into his skull, "The things we do for him. He better appreciate this when he's getting some sweet French ass."

Canada grimaced, "_America_,_ France_ is like our Mom, don't say things like that."

"I just want this to be over before the next meeting," he grumbled, letting his head flop forward and his shoulders slump, "I don't think I could handle them being all freakin' angsty."

"And them being lovey-dovey is any better?"

"Well at least then they'd be happy and annoying rather than sad and annoying."

He looked up at Canada to see his conceding nod just as they turned the corner to also see England walking along carrying a sports bag and an umbrella, dressed as if he'd just been to the gym, his attention on the phone call he was currently taking part in.

America silently thanked god that England was, in fact, just working out, and grabbed Canada's arm to drag him over to the distracted Englishman. England noticed them as they were about halfway down the street, frowning in confusion before offering them a weak smile and holding up a finger to signal that they wait a moment.

England hastily hung up on whoever he was talking to, smiling at the twins in an entirely disconcerting way, _shit, what happened between those two?_

"Hello boys," he greeted, and there was a definite edge of _false _to his bravado, "Whatever brings you here?"

"Well," Canada spoke before America had the chance, "We went to visit _France_, because it's been so long since we've all been together as a family, but then she seemed really _down_..."

He trailed off with a pointed elbow to America's ribs, making him perk up to what Canada was saying, "Oh yeah, she looked like she'd just woken up and it was like 3pm. Kind of a mess, I dunno why. Anyway, she said she wasn't in the mood to hang, so we figured we'd give her some space, and come talk to you instead."

England had a deep frown on his face, to which America had to fight very hard not to show his happiness at, "You said she looked...?"

"Really down dude," America finished for him, "Like a kicked puppy."

Something seemed to spark in England then, and he blinked a few times, "I'm sorry boys, I have something I need to do," he said, shoving his bag and umbrella into their hands, "You know where the key is, let yourselves in, I shant be too long."

And then he ran off in the other direction.

America turned to Canada, a huge smile on his face, a matching one on his brother's face.

"I guess we won't be needing the plan then?" Canada asked, hauling the bag into a more comfortable position over his shoulder as he turned back toward England's house.

America let his face fall, "Yeah, damn shame that is," he sighed, "I really was hoping-"

Canada laughed, "Carry out your fantasies in your head, _America_, let them have their moment."

America hummed resignedly through a rekindled smile, twirling the umbrella like a baton, and almost catching Canada with the sharp end as he threw it in the air. "Hey, watch where you're throwing that thing, eh?"

America chuckled, "Sorry bro, wasn't thinking."

Canada smiled, "Nah, you were just thinking too much that you forgot I was here again."

America looked afronted, "I would never!"

"Sure, Al."

The two of them laughed all the way back to England's house, and in the end, it was America who got hit on the head with the umbrella.

* * *

_Romano_

* * *

Greece was _good _at sex.

How could he not be, what with the amount of it that he had, and that was the whole reason Romano went to him when he wanted to forget that sex was supposed to be anything but carnal pleasure. It helped that he fucked about as differently from Spain as physically possible. Slow and easy, languid kisses which built to a pleasure which seemed to last an eternity... he had a dick, too, which was good. Because that meant he could forget about everything and just open his legs and let Greece take care of the rest.

Being fucked was a million times easier than the other way around.

Especially since there was no way he could trick himself into thinking it was Spain that was with him, because as much as he hated himself for it, he _wanted _it to be Spain with him, and if he'd tried to fuck a woman he was sure the name he'd be calling out when he came would _not _be the right one. Something women didn't seem to like all that much, surprisingly enough.

Greece kissed him one more time, more lazily than usual in light of the gentle haze of satiation that surrounded them. Yes, this wasn't Spain, not Spain at all, it was Greece, Greece had just made him feel like that, he didn't need Spain, he didn't... _need _her at... all... He didn't. Not at all.

Greece pulled away from the kiss, ignoring Romano's whine.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his head tilting curiously.

Romano frowned, "Nothing's wrong, what do you-"

Greece shut him up with another languid kiss. "You only ever come to me like this when something's wrong," He said, pressing a few kisses along Romano's suddenly tense jaw, "So tell me what's bothering you this time."

Romano could feel his lip quivering, but _god fucking damn it _he _was not _going to cry. "Nothing," He tried weakly, although he doubted Greece believed it.

"I won't pressure you, if you don't want to tell me," Greece said, and there was something so intimate about the way Greece touched him that made Romano's resolve whither like an unwatered tomato plant, "But it will do you good to get it off your chest."

"It's _Spagna_," he choked, and Greece soothed his uneven breathing with a soft hand to his chest and his shaking jaw with a few softer kisses, an understanding hum coming from him, "She-"

At the pause in his speech, Greece looked up at him, smoothing his hair from his face, "She found someone else?" he asked.

Romano fought tears as he shook his head, "She- she never even- she wasn't mine to begin with." He took a deep breath, Greece's languid hands still roaming his body and calming him down enough to continue, "You know- how I feel about her, and she- she just- And I wouldn't care so much if she'd just told me flat-out, but she played with my f- my _feelings _and now I just feel like a piece of undesirable shit."

"The gossip circle tells me that she's really upset," Greece said, making Romano scrunch up his nose in distaste.

"The gossip circle says a lot of shit," he replied quickly, "And who the fuck cares anyway?" he turned his head away from Greece, who followed it with a curious expression, "She deserves every ounce of grief she feels for making me feel like shit, the least she can do is feel like shit in return."

"But does anyone really win when everyone feel like shit?" Greece asked, making Romano frown at him in confusion, to which he just shrugged, "I mean, what's the point of everyone feeling bad, maybe you should talk to her..."

Romano scoffed, "Ha, alright, sure, what am I gonna say? Hey Spain, you ripped out my heart in return for free wine, that wasn't very nice, I'd like it if you didn't do that again?"

Greece shrugged, "It wouldn't hurt."

Romano rolled his eyes, rubbing away any water that threatened to leak from them, "Yeah, thanks, no."

Once again Greece just shrugged, pressing their lips back together one last time before standing and stretching, "Just a suggestion." He reached a hand down for Romano to take, "Do you want to eat? I'm hungry."

Romano nodded, more than a little grateful that Greece had dropped the subject, "Yeah, okay..."

* * *

_Portugal_

* * *

Never let it be said that Portugal didn't love his sister, not when he put up with stuff like this.

The hugging he didn't mind so much, it was the ceaseless and unexplained sobbing that really got him. Well, it had been unexplained when she'd first arrived, Veneziano had been kind enough to inform him exactly of what was going on by phone a little while ago, at which point he'd been torn between hugging her tighter and hitting her upside the head for being so stupid.

"_Espanha_," he sighed, making her sniff pitifully and look up at him through tearful eyes, "What exactly did he say to you?"

She choked a little, "He said- he told me to get- get out of his house, and he even threatened _war _if I didn't and I was so confused, and then he told me that he thought he was worth more than wine, and _he is_!" She sobbed a little, "He's worth so much more to me than wine! But he's never going to talk to me again because I ruined it! I broke his heart and now he thinks he's stupid and h-he hates me!"

Portugal sighed a little sadly as he pulled her head back down to rest against his chest, rocking her gently as a fresh wave of tears washed over them and soaked into his shirt. "You were stupid," Portugal said, which prompted another loud sob from his sister, until he lifted her chin up to look at him, "You were stupid, and you did a stupid thing, but you do a lot of stupid things so I'm used to it, and I want to help you get Romano back."

She perked up at that, a sunny smile shining through her puffy cheeks, "You do!"

He chuckled a little at her enthusiasm, "Of course, I want _minha irmãzinha_ to be happy."

Spain frowned a little, hitting him playfully in the arm, "I'm not so little anymore, _gran Hermano_."

Portugal laughed gently, brushing her tangled hair from her face, "Felling better now?"

She sniffed, but nodded, "Yes." She said, straightening, an almost comically determined look on her face, "I'm going to win back my Romano! Even if it takes me years!"

Portugal laughed, "That's the _Espanha_ I know!" he cheered, and she reached up to hug his neck tightly.

She pulled back from him a moment later, with that worried expression back on her face, "But how?"

Portugal's face fell then too, "I'm not sure," he said, before smiling crookedly at her again, "But I'm sure we can think of something, what does Romano love?"

She opened her mouth, but Portugal pressed a hand over it quickly, with a amused smile, "_Other _than tomatoes."

She licked his hand, making him remove it as if by instinct, and pouted, "I wasn't going to say tomatoes, just because that's all _you _know about him."

Portugal chuckled, "Okay, what then?"

Spain grinned widely, "Well, I think I know of _something_..."

* * *

_Austria_

* * *

He had sincerely considered completely breaking contact with his ex-wife over the years. Her concern over his love-life was almost concerning in itself. Really it was. He supposed that at least he could take comfort in the fact that it wasn't _just _him, it just seemed to be _mostly _him, but even still...

But anyway, he was sure this was Hungary's doing, because otherwise Prussia would not be outside his house with a bouquet of flowers and a shy smile. Prussia just didn't _do _stuff like this, not of her own volition anyway.

Not that it wasn't terribly sweet, and exactly what he'd want. But that's exactly why he knew Hungary was behind it.

"_Hallo_," she said, her normal bravado hidden behind the bouquet and her self-consciously hunched shoulders, "Please let me in?"

Austria raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bouquet, edelweiss, his national flower, a nice touch on Hungary's part. "What's your game _Preußen_?" he asked, making Prussia look up at him, surprised, "Why did_ Ungarn_ put you up to this? Because if it's some sort of pity thing because I haven't had a date in a while then-"

"It's not!" Prussia blurted, "I asked for _Ungarn_'s help! Because I wanted to... I mean, well I tried without her, but you know how _that _went."

Austria found himself frowning quizzically at her, "You mean you-?"

"Want to date you?" Prussia asked, irritation tickling at her tone, "Yes! _Österreich_ I want to date you."

Was she blushing? _Oh_. Well, that was perhaps the most endearing thing Prussia had ever done.

He found himself smiling a little, "Well, you best ask me properly then."

Prussia looked up at him from where she'd previously been rather thoroughly studying her feet, surprise evident on her features, "You- ah- wait, what?"

Austria couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, covering his mouth delicately with his hand as he did so, "I said, you should probably ask me properly," he said, the amusement clearly audible in his voice.

Prussia still seemed to be in shock, but managed to, choke out an "_Österreich _will you go on a date with me?" through her awe.

Austria just smiled wryly, plucking the flowers from her hands, "I would be prepared to give it a go," he said, "I'm afraid I'm rather busy now though, how does Wednesday sound?"

She nodded, her eyes still wide with disbelief, "Yeah... uh, okay, Wednesday."

"Pick me up at six, I expect to go somewhere nice, and you'll be paying," Which of course, meant poor Germany would be paying, but that was fine by him.

"Okay," and she finally seemed to grasp the situation, because she perked up and smiled widely at him, "Do I at least get a kiss for coming all the way out here?"

Austria narrowed his eyes at her, "I don't know, do you deserve one?"

She bit her lip through a smile, a wide and self-assured smile that fit so much better on Prussia's face than the shy and nervous one she'd been wearing a few moments earlier. It occurred to him that no matter what he'd thought in the past, that smile suited her better than anything proper or reserved ever could, and resolved to stop trying to force that on her. "I dunno, I've tried pretty hard already. I think I do."

He did his best to hide his answering smile, but she'd have had to be blind to miss it, "Come and get one then."

She laughed as she bounded up the porch step and cupped his face, pressing a short but firm kiss to his lips. He wondered if it was Hungary that told her about that too, to not be too overzealous with the kisses, or if Prussia had worked it out all on her own. She pressed another one to his cheek, stepping backwards with a huge grin on her face, "See you on Wednesday _Österreich_!"

He shook his head, closing the door as she skipped away, wandering into the house to find a vase to put the flowers in, "_Ja Preußen_, see you on Wednesday."

* * *

_Germany_

* * *

Prussia was... more boisterous than usual when she arrived home.

The grin on her face was a strange combination of one he recognized and one he didn't, which meant he didn't know how to react to it until it was too late.

She as good as pounced on him as she ran up to where he had previously been reading peacefully and trying to forget about whatever had happened at the Italies' house. She ruffled his hair excitedly, laughing like a manic.

"What has gotten into you?" He asked irritably, swatting at her in an attempt to get her off his lap.

"I got a date with _Österreich_!" She grinned, "_Ungarn_ stopped being terrifying and helped me and now I'm gonna get me some fine _österreichisch _ass!" she laughed giddily, kicking her legs dangerously in the air in her excitement.

Germany, however, found it hard to share her excitement, "_Österreich_?" he asked, more than a little disbelievingly.

"_Ja, Österreich, _you dummy," she ruffled his hair again, making him frown and duck away from her hand, and attempt to fix it more than a little fruitlessly, "The pretty-boy to the south, ringing any bells?"

Germany levelled her an unamused expression, "I know who you mean, I don't, however, know _what _you mean."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm taking him out on a date on Wednesday. What isn't there to get?"

"W-well," Germany stammered, "I just don't understand- Since when have you wanted to-"

"It's a pretty recent thing," she said, playing with her chewed down fingernails with a false sort of absentmindedness. She perked up after a moment, "But, hey, did you know _Ungarn _is an awesome kisser, almost as good as me, who'd have thought!"

"W-wait! _Ungarn_?" Germany often had trouble keeping up with Prussia's thought processes, the fact that her chain of thought can change in less than an instant without any trouble was always amazing to him. Of course, she could focus when she needed to, Germany knew that, but when she didn't her brain was a mish-mash of a thousand different things going in a thousand different directions and it was oftentimes hard to keep up with where those things were taking her. "I thought-"

"Oh no," she said breezily, "I'm going on a _date _with_ Österreich, _but I made out with _Ungarn _too, because _why not_? Y'know?"

Germany frowned, "Not really, no."

"Oh!" she gasped, "I just remembered, have you been talking with _Italien _recently?"

Germany tilted his head at her, "Yes, I saw him earlier today, why?"

Her smile turned a little sheepish, "I was just wondering if you knew, because he knew, what _Spanien _and_ Süd-Italien_ where... uh... up to?"

Germany's look of confusion deepened further, "They seemed more than happy earlier, like I told you over the phone. But this morning... Romano seemed... well he didn't even tell me to fuck off or call me a potato-eating bastard, and he looked like he'd been crying..."

Prussia's eyes widened, "No shit, really?"

Germany nodded, "I left _Italien _to deal with it. No way in hell was my being there going to _help _the situation."

Prussia frowned in thought for a moment, "Shit," she breathed, "I need to call _Spanien_."

And then she darted from the room without a hint of an explanation. Germany silently decided that a call to Italy was probably in order, if he had any hope of keeping Europe in any semblance of order, then he should probably know what his sister and her friends are up to... god knows what could happen otherwise.

* * *

**Translations?**

_**Belarusian:**_

**Англія - England**

**Францыя - France**

_**Portuguese:**_

**minha irmãzinha - little sister**

_**Spanish:**_

**gran Hermano - big brother**

**P sure that's it. Hope the wait was worth it (I'm so sorry!)**


	11. Chapter 10: Late That Evening

**So guess who's a piece of shit who kept you all waiting like two months this time?**

**This girl!**

**Sorry, but it's here now, my life has been crazy recently. I hope it is worth the wait! I'm gonna be wrapping this up soon, getting the girls arcs all tied up in bows of varying quality, so don't abandon me just yet. Anyways, you wanna read...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_France_

* * *

_Just cook._

_ You know how to cook._

_ You can cook._

_ Just forget everything for a while._

_ How on earth am I supposed to forget?!_

France let out a loud noise of frustration, shutting the fridge door a little harder than she maybe should have. The milk was slammed on the counter a moment later, and she forced herself to calm down enough to not crush the carton.

That bastard!

What kind of man runs away after being kissed by a beautiful woman? A beautiful woman who could only have made it more obvious she wanted to continue kissing him by explicitly saying "Hey England, I want to _keep kissing you_!" and honestly it was almost more infuriating that she _still _wanted to keep kissing him. Just her luck that she'd fall for an asshole. And he was an asshole too.

He'd flat out agreed they were friends, and she _knew _that what he felt for her was at the very least less than platonic affection. If he felt anything other than that then he would have pushed her away and shouted at her! He wouldn't have kissed back and then run away!

What an absolute coward!

She would never _once _allow him to tease her for 'running away' ever again, not after this stunt, that was for absolute certain!

The French at least were brave enough to follow the object of their reluctant romantic affections! What did the English do? Get within half- No! Get _completely_ within the realm of starting a relationship (he kissed back! He kissed back and it was a lovely kiss! And it was obvious he wanted it!) and then leave just before any of the good stuff happened.

Well, it was done. Finished. Over. The English could go fuck themselves, because she certainly wasn't going to do it. Not anymore. Oh no!

She'd already conceded to pay for Spain's alcoholic beverage of choice, so she didn't have to pursue the awful man anymore. She'd find another man- no, scratch that, she'd find a woman. Men were stupid, arrogant, selfish idiots who wouldn't know how to act if someone held cue-cards for them every moment of the day. No, a woman would know how to treat her right. And women sounded so much prettier in bed as well.

Hungary perhaps. She'd been single last she'd checked, and if she was lucky that thing with Ukraine was still casual enough that at the very least a couple of steamy one-night 'I'm totally not trying to get over someone right now' stands would be do-able (Ukraine slept with Canada all the time, as far as she knew, she should be fine). If not her, then Belgium. Sure Netherlands wouldn't approve, but she _knew _how to use her tongue, and that was entirely worth the-

He internal monologue was interrupted when she grasped the hot pan without looking, searing her palm on the metal and spitting out every swearword she knew as she ran to the sink.

This is what she got for thinking about Belgium while cooking. Well, Belgium amongst other things.

Ow, that _hurt_.

England was so stupid. A stupid, stupid coward who couldn't see when he had something great even when it was literally _right in front of him_. Kissing him. _Passionately_!

Romantic comedies lied. Male leads aren't perfect and charming. They're imbeciles who quite honestly wouldn't know romance if it came up behind them and shoved it up their tight little arses.

Or maybe England _didn't _want her in that way. Maybe he'd just kissed back in a knee-jerk reaction of male hormones and as soon as he realized who it was, he ran out of there in disgust. It wasn't something she wanted to think about, but it was something she had to at least consider.

Ok, so maybe not _disgust_, she was sure absolutely no one would feel _disgusted _when they kissed her. But he may simply have been trying to spare her feelings by avoiding outright rejecting her. If that were the case then he was still a coward, but a sweet coward rather than a stupid coward... and now that she thought about it, she probably shouldn't consider that, because if that were the case then endearing herself more to him wasn't going to help her situation.

She needed a drink. Something strong. Strong and _not _British.

Ah, no, that was a terrible idea. Maybe she should just call Hungary...

Yeah.

She removed her hand from under the tap, drying it and turning off the heat on the stovetop before wandering over to her phone and dialling Hungary's number.

"_Helló_?"

"Ah! _Hongrie! _How nice it is to talk to you!"

"_Franciaországban?_ Are you calling about_ Poroszország_? I thought you'd dropped out of the bet...? Well, I'm going to be honest with you, what with the way things are going, she looks like she's going to be the winner." Hungary sighed a little, "Has the situation with your ill-advised lover gotten any better?"

France grimaced, maybe she _should _have called Belgium. "I'm afraid not, the beast is as cruel as ever."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that!"

"_Ah, oui, mais c'est la vie._ He simply doesn't know how to be anything other than a complete fool."

"I've given up on men, honestly. I'll give you some very sound advice, from one girl to another. He is a man, and therefore, completely clueless on how females work, he will repeatedly disappoint you, and he will likely only make you cum once a night, if you're lucky. But I can see how much he cares about you, no matter how stubbornly he denies it. If for some reason, he shows up at your door with some grand token of love and begging for forgiveness, I suggest you give him a chance."

France breathed out a smiling breath, running a hand through her hair, "And if he doesn't?"

"Make sure his ass becomes well acquainted with the Seine."

France let out a proper laugh at that, "Thank you, _Hongrie_, I trust I can ask for your help kicking his ass down there if it comes to that."

"Of course!_ Anglia_ is no match for me, and if you're there too then he's as good as fucked."

"I think that's the opposite of the point, _mon cœur._"

Hungary chuckled, "Right, poor choice of words."

"Just out of curiosity, how _is Prusse_ doing?"

"Surprisingly well, actually. _Ausztria _seems to be genuinely interested. I mean she would be getting absolutely no where without me, but its sweet seeing _Ausztria _smile every time he looks at the flowers she got for him. I think at the end of all this they might actually be able to have something..."

France smiled despite herself. No matter her personal interests, she couldn't help but be happy for her friend. She'd always hoped love could come out of the bet, and sure, she'd hoped that love would be her own, but Prussia had always had such a hard time with romance, it was nice to see her succeeding for once. And her and Austria would be so sweet together... they complemented each other so well, she was hard, he was soft, she was crass, he was proper, she had a hard time keeping a relationship for more than a month, he had a hard time letting them go... They were going to be perfect. They were going to have a sweet love which would make them ache and glow and bring them so much happiness.

And France... Well, she had _England. _Arrogant, unromantic, rude... kind, charming, beautiful... England. Oh and their love wouldn't a be nearly as smooth, it would be bumpy because they were both too proud and they'd been at odds too long, but... by god did she want to take him into her arms and kiss him, properly this time. And he would kiss back, and maybe, if they were lucky, they'd let all of those bumps go for a while, and just... _love_.

Damn it.

She wanted that more than anything.

Damn Prussia for suggesting this. If she never had then France would have never had to face the full truth, and her and England would still be happily at odds.

"_Franciaországban?_ Are you listening?"

"Ah, no, sorry, I got lost in thought."

Hungary chuckled. "Next time let me know so I can leave you to it."

"Yes, thank you, _Hongrie_. This really means a lot."

"Not a problem. Call me any time you need another girl talk!"

"Or a booty call if this doesn't work out?"

"Only if _you _buy the wine."

"Naturally."

Hungary chuckled again, "Okay, consider it done if you decide _Anglia's _not worth your time. I'll talk to you later."

"_Oui, au revoir!_"

"_Persze, viszlát!_"

France hung up, sighing out a deep breath, that hadn't gone as expected, but it hadn't gone badly either. She wandered back to the kitchen, turning the elements back on and continuing dinner.

She didn't even realize she was making enough for two.

* * *

_England_

* * *

Ok. So he'd fucked up... a lot.

He'd _really_ fucking fucked up.

Belarus had been kind enough to inform him of that, in more words and somehow more profanity, but the point still stood.

He'd debated with himself for a full fifteen minutes over whether to get roses or irises. An important bloody decision. Red English roses, symbol of love to be universally understood. Or the Iris, France's not-so-secretly favourite flower, well she liked it enough to make it her national one. Then again, she also made her national animal a cock so he wasn't holding her regard of national symbolism too highly.

He'd glared angrily at several bouquets for a few minutes, before the florist had kindly suggested to do him an assortment, which he had to decline because if they were going to be roses they _had _to be red roses and red roses and irises would look awful together.

Oh fuck, was that a metaphor he should be paying attention to?

That seemed very much like the kind of metaphor he should be paying attention to.

Fuck it. He'd worry about that once he'd given them to her.

He gratefully accepted the florist's offer.

When the bouquet arrived, he was pleased to find that they looked perfectly fine together, a little garish perhaps, and white roses would look better, but they still looked undoubtedly _fine_. The metaphor was working in his favour, it seemed, at least a little.

It had been snowing on and off since he'd arrived in Paris, going from gentle flurries to pelting sleet in a matter of moments, and he sincerely hoped that it was just mother nature having a laugh, and not France having some major mood swings. Because if she _was _then he'd have to feel even _guiltier_, and it was hard enough sucking up his pride as it was.

He probably would have reacted better had it been... well, _not France_. Belgium for example, lovely girl, very few ulterior motives to consider. And she was bloody fantastic with her tongue.

But he digressed. France was the issue right now.

The really fucking _glaring _issue.

Speaking of glaring. He'd been doing just that to France's door for about five minutes. Which was also an issue, because he was pretty sure her neighbours were beginning to notice. The last thing he needed was a large audience if France decided to dump him back out on the street.

_Okay old chap, you can do this. Just knock._

_ Just... lift your hand..._

_ Knock on the door._

_ Okay._

_ Fuck._

He knocked on the door.

"_Oui, oui, juste un instant s'il vous plaît!_"

Well, France was in. That was a good sign.

The door opened, "_Mme Vaillancourt, est-ce vous? __Je- Angleterre?_" She stopped short, blinking in surprise.

Well shit, even when she was a mess she was gorgeous. Somehow messy hair and dressing gown suited her as well as styled curls and fitted dresses. What had he done to deserve this? Truly nothing at all, in fact, by his calculations, the world should be punishing him, not handing him a beautiful and charming woman on a silver platter. Then again, he supposed in a moment karma might just come back to bite him in the arse.

He coughed, holding the bouquet (which was a little snow-damaged, he'd admit) out to her. "_France_," he said, with the kind of confidence which screams 'false', "I certainly don't deserve your forgiveness, god knows I've been a right dickhead to you. But, if you'd consider forgiving me, I... I'd be willing to at the very least _try _to stop being a dickhead. _S'il te plaît, pardon-moi. Je suis désolé_."

France stared blankly at him for a moment, before reaching out and taking the flowers. She blinked at them for a moment, before the tiniest of smiles twitched up her lips, "I didn't know you were one for sappy symbolism, _Angleterre_."

"It was either that or a cage full of lions and cocks and I can't imagine that would've ended well for anyone."

France looked up at him in surprise, and for the briefest moment, England was terrified he'd said something to fuck everything up. But then France let out a laugh, her face splitting into a huge grin, and she dropped the flowers to rush forward and wrap her arms around his neck.

_Oh thank fuck. _

_ Dear god, this felt nice._

"You are an utterly ridiculous man," She laughed into his neck. England was inclined to agree.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" He asked hopefully, squeezing his arms around her waist.

She hummed thoughtfully, pulling out of the hug far enough to look him in the eye, "A little. You have had me in turmoil, _Angleterre_, you will have to do better than that." She smiled softly, "But you're lucky. I just had a rather enlightening chat with _Hongrie_, and she said that even though you are, and I quote, 'a man, and therefore, completely clueless on how females work' that I should give you a chance."

England choked out a laugh, "Remind me to thank her."

France smiled wider, letting go of him to pick up the bouquet, "Come in, I just finished dinner, there should be enough for the both of us."

* * *

_France_

* * *

France was glowing. And she vaguely registered that she _should not _have been quite so happy to find England at her door with a bouquet of their national flowers, and begging for forgiveness in her language. But she had to admit, the man knew what she wanted... in this at least.

She wandered into the kitchen, England following close behind her. When she stopped at the counter he placed his hands on her hips, pressing his front to her back and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her neck, "Thank you."

She smiled a little, holding back a shiver as she leant back into his touch, "For what, _Angleterre_?"

England pressed a few more kisses along her neck, "For giving my sorry arse a chance."

"Mmn," she sighed, turning in his arms, "I was feeling generous, don't try anything that stupid again."

He smiled guiltily, before frowning deeply, "What do you want from me, France? I just want to know we're on the same page."

Honestly?

She wanted something beautiful and unobtainable, she wanted a deep and powerful love like she'd always wished she could have, she wanted England be the one who could give that to her, to want that too.

But she couldn't say that, so she settled for, "I just want _you_, _Angleterre_. Whatever else I want is just a bonus."

England smiled widely, and France thought she melted, that man had no right to look so adorable when he smiled. "Well, you have me, for as long as you want me."

She lifted her hands up to brush at his cheekbones, "That's a big promise to make."

England shrugged, "I mean it, but if you choose to not believe me I wouldn't blame you. I've hardly been the best at keeping my promises to you over the centuries."

France nodded, letting her hands drift back to play with the short hairs at the base of his neck, "That may be true, but you kept them when it counted."

She perked up a little after that, a wicked smile coming to her face. "Oh, and by the way, you are _never _allowed to make fun of me for being a coward again."

England grimaced, "_Well bollocks_. Alright, but that means we're even now so you can't either."

France mirrored his expression, making the Englishman snort in laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. France joined him a moment later, pulling the hand away, and making England's eyes widen minutely, his smile falling to something expectant.

She glanced at his lips a moment, bringing a thumb up to brush over them. At his soft inhale she looked up into his eyes, taking only the briefest second to admire how pretty they were up close before speaking, "May I kiss you, _Angleterre_?"

England seemed a little taken aback at the question, letting out the intaken breath in a laugh, "Since when did you learn to ask first?"

France smiled, leaning up on her toes and bringing their faces close enough that their noses brushed, "Recent circumstances have forced me to reconsider my stance on surprise kisses."

England shook his head, "Surprise kisses have their merit."

"Hmmn? I was under the impression you didn't like them." She replied.

"No, not at all, they give me no time to prepare myself. I end up doing things I regret."

"Well, I'm giving you time this time."

England laughed, "Thank you, love. And to answer your question," he pulled her hips forward, close to his own, "_Oh god yes_."

She laughed as she leaned forward and pressed their lips together, and it was a million times better this time, because when England kissed her back, she knew he wasn't going to pull away...

_Oh, _and now she remembered again why she'd named this kind of kissing after him in the first place. He was exquisite at it.

He still tasted like everything and nothing, his lips still had that wet roughness. But now she took the time to notice his skin smelled like tea and rain and something sweet, and his hands were small but rough, and held her solidly in place as she curved fluidly against him.

He really wasn't the kind of man she liked. But it seemed she was prepared to make an exception. Just this once. Just for him.

She smiled, latching onto his bottom lip, and making him hum out a moan, "If you continue like this, I'm afraid we'll be skipping dinner."

She pulled away entirely at that, her smile turning wicked, "Who needs dinner?"

* * *

_England_

* * *

As England found himself with his back on France's bed, and said nation, pressing against his hips with her lips at his neck, he made a mental note to do something absolutely _tremendous _for America and Canada. Because those boys had done him a rather large favour...

_Fuck, that woman can move_.

Okay, make that a _huge fucking favour_.

He reached up to push her dressing gown from her shoulders, deciding that as nice as the silk looked against her skin, it would look infinitely better on the floor. But as he did, she reached up to hold his hands in place, stopping him. She looked a little scared then, biting her lip, and England found himself feeling worried a little despite himself. "_Angleterre, _before we do this, I have to tell you something, and you have to promise to listen to me all the way through before you hate me."

England frowned in confusion, "You're not going to give me a political scandal are you?"

France laughed nervously, but shook her head, "No, no, nothing like that, I..."

She sighed, seeming to steel herself. "I want you to know that I have a genuine interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with you, but the reason I'm doing so right at this very moment is because I made a bet with _Prusse _and _Espagne_ to see who could be the first person to sleep with their chosen person. I chose you."

England blinked in surprise.

A bet?

With Prussia and Spain...? Of fucking course.

"How much was it for?"

France smiled guiltily, "Free alcohol for two months."

At that, England actually laughed.

Booze?

Well, it was Spain and Prussia. Of fucking course.

"If it was for alcohol you could have told me." He laughed, pulling her down for a kiss, which she seemed surprised to receive, "Think it through next time, we could have split the winnings fifty-fifty."

France seemed startled for a moment, before her face melted into one of relief, and then mischief. Something that made England unreasonably excited for reasons completely understandable to anyone with any kind of libido.

"If we hurry, we might still be able to."

England's face spilt into a similar grin, before he flipped them over and pulled loose the ribbon holding France's dressing gown together in one quick movement. He pushed her thighs apart, leaning forward to kiss her collarbone and pressing their groins together. "Oh, _poppet_, I can promise you, we will _not _be hurrying."

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

Prussia's phone buzzed, and she paused in her channel surfing of shitty 2am television to pick up her phone.

When she saw what it was she swore loudly, groaning in defeat.

On the screen was a photo.

A photo of France.

With England.

In bed.

And very obviously just done with a (rather good if their goofy grins were anything to go by) round of sex.

Well fuck. She guessed she'd just lost to France, which honestly wasn't _that _much of a surprise in a seduction-off, but it was a fucking bummer anyway.

Oh fuck it, she couldn't give up now! If she'd already lost the bet and her money, then she was at the very least going to get some decent Austrian dick out of it!

There was no two ways about it.

It was time to pull out the big guns.

* * *

**Translation shit:**

**French:**

**Ah, oui, mais c'est la vie. - Ah, yes, but that's life.**

**Oui, oui, juste un instant s'il vous plaît! - Yes, yes, just a moment please!**

**Mme Vaillancourt, est-ce vous? Je- Angleterre? - Mrs Vaillancourt, is that you? I- England?**

**(Also I like the idea that political scandals are STD's for nations. Sue me.)**


	12. Chapter 11: That Fateful Wednesday

**I WROTE THIS IN LIKE ONE DAY AND DID NOT PROOF READ AND NOW IT'S 1AM AND I JUST WANNA POST THIS BC I MADE YOU WAIT SIX MONTHS IM SO SORRY! **

**ahaha this took a while, didn't it? I'll likely completely re-write the whole thing soon, so feel free to check back in a couple days to see if anything changed. I'm trying to get back into fic writing again so with any luck the next chapter won't take six months but honestly who even knows with me. Either way, I hope this chapter is worth the wait.**

**Enjoy! ;)**

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

Ah. Right.

Today was the day.

The day she would win! Well, against Spain anyway. She had been strangely silent over the last few days, which Prussia concluded not to take as a bad sign or else her conscience would force her to go and check on one of the oldest friends she had in fear that she'd resolved to drown herself in the Mediterranean in response to Romano's blatant rejection.

Whatever the case, it didn't seem like she'd managed to sleep with him before she drove them up shit creek, so… Well, France had claimed the win now so it didn't really matter.

God knows France hadn't let her forget her defeat for more than five minutes. Half of her phone must have been filled up with pictures of her and England snogging, or her and England grinning smugly, or her and England snogging _while _grinning smugly. That was all interspersed amongst pictures which were so fucking pornographic that it was impossible to claim she was faking.

Not that they were _bad _pictures, in fact the two of them were just a little bit too attractive together, which was strange because England wasn't attractive. Prussia mostly chose to chock it up to the fact that France was so indisputably gorgeous that she just made those around her ten times prettier in order to balance the natural order of things. That or it was the fact that England was actually _smiling_.

Shit, she hadn't seen the miserable bastard so happy in years, who'd have thought all it would take to cheer him up was a decent round of sex. Well, actually, she probably _could _have thought that, he probably hadn't gotten laid in a while.

She'd tell them to get a room, but that was half the problem.

Whatever the case with those wackjobs turned out to be, she was doing quite well too. Currently on her way to Austria's house, all dolled up and looking pretty courtesy of Hungary and a reluctant Poland. She hated to admit there were butterflies in her stomach, but the closer she got to Austria's house, the worse they got, and she wasn't sure if it was the idea of dating Austria or going on a date with Austria, but they were there. She also wasn't sure if those butterflies were good or bad.

She didn't mind the butterflies, not at all. They were a nice change. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had butterflies, she'd forgotten how soft and pleasant they felt. She glanced at the pavement beneath her clicking heels and bit her lip, thinking of Austria's stupid face and grinned as the butterflies fluttered their gentle wings against her stomach again. She wondered if they'd stay or if it was just nerves and anticipation of what was to come that was making her jittery.

She wasn't sure, but she knew she hoped they'd stay. She'd forfeit a lot to make them stay.

As she approached, Austria's house looking the same as ever, a soft light coming from the windows, a thought came to her, however. The kind that drove all thoughts of butterflies from her mind in favour of pure excitement.

France had forfeited.

_France had forfeited!_

Haha! This was amazing! So fucking amazing! She could still win this!

She stopped in her tracks, unable to keep this thought to herself, because this was an amazing development and she needed to tell someone! She pulled out her phone, dialling Hungary's number with the sort of enthusiasm that only made the process slower, holding the phone up to her ear while bouncing around excitedly. This was perfect, so perfect!

"Aren't you supposed to be on your date with-"

"Yes, yes, that's what's so great!" She said loudly, the heels of her boots clicking against the ground as she bounced from one foot to the other. "_Frankreich_ forfeited the bet!"

"Yes, but I don't-"

There was a pause, in which Prussia just grinned wider. She could practically hear the cogs in Hungary's head turning, coming to the exact same conclusion that she had.

"_Oooh…_ I see what you mean, you mean you think you can still win on a technicality?"

"Exactly!"

"You think she'll let that slide?"

"I don't give a shit! I still have a chance! She forfeited! Haha!" Prussia laughed, a giddy noise that bubbled up her throat and made her jump around like a mad woman again, and she didn't give a shit about the look that a passing dog walker gave her because she was fucking _extatic_.

"Well! What are you waiting for!? Go and get that _osztrák_ idiot!"

"_Ya! _You're right!" She said the words breathlessly, a grin on her face, "I have to go! Bye_ Ungarn!_" She hung up the phone, huffing a long breath out of her nose and watching the vapour rise into the air, trying her best to calm the worst of her excitement before seeing Austria.

This was fantastic. Better than fantastic. This was the best loophole she'd ever found to get her out of paying for drinks. And trust when she said that she'd come up with her fair share over the years.

It's amazing the cash a horny sailor would cough up if he thought you were easy.

Strangely enough, though, they never seemed to realize that she was very much capable of also ripping their balls off one by one and shoving them up their under-utilized arses.

She smiled a little at that particular memory…

Ahh, those were the days.

Not anymore though, she was about to tie herself down. Oh, this was weird, willingly giving up her spinsterhood for a guy as stuck up and boring as Austria could be. The thing was, she didn't mind, she knew he wasn't stuck and boring at all, there was a man under that with a dry wit, and a sharp intelligence, all wrapped up in charming (well, once you knew him at least) idiosyncrasies and passions that just…

She felt herself grinning widely when she knocked on Austria's door, the knowledge that this wasn't over giving her exactly the spring in her step she needed to sweep this loser off his feet.

He opened the door after a moment, wrapped up from head to toe in thick winter clothes, and she couldn't hold in her laugh, "Ready to go, or did you also want to bring the duvet?"

"Oh shush, you know I get cold easily, it would have been better if you hadn't insisted we go out to dinner." He huffed in reply, stepping out and locking the door behind him.

"You spend too much time, indoors, old man. Get out and smell the roses." She rolled her eyes, looping her arm around his and dragging him away from the house and toward the restaurant.

"I get mine delivered." He replied, tucking his head further into his scarf, and Prussia found herself laughing at the sight of him huddled into his coat like a scarf tortoise. "Not to mention any rose that is blooming this time of year would not live long enough for us to smell."

"You are on a date with a beautiful woman, stop being so grumpy." She laughed, squeezing his arm.

Austria smiled against his scarf, but of course, Prussia couldn't see anything other than him push his head further away from her view.

* * *

_France_

* * *

"Can you _please_ explain to me why we're in Austria in the middle of winter just to spy on _Prussia's _date?" England grumbled, pulling his hat down further over his ears.

"Simply curiosity, my love." She replied, tugging him forward a little faster so they didn't lose sight of the other nations.

"Nosiness, you mean?"

"They are one in the same, no?" she replied flippantly, flipping her hand out beside her in dismissal. "It is simply more time we can be spending together, or else all we will end up doing is having hideous amounts of sex, and in order for this to work we need to base this on more than just carnal desires."

England groaned, "Yes, yes, I get that, but can't we base our relationship on more than carnal desires whilst, say, in my house, by a roaring fire, with a cup of tea?"

France rolled her eyes, "You,_ mon cher Anglais,_ are an horribly old man, I hope you know that."

"You didn't think that when my head was between your legs."

"No, I did not. But I am right now, so_ tais-toi_. We will lose them."

"Will we? Oh good, you know I do rather think I'm getting Arthritis, I've a terrible pain in my back, and I am rather worried about-"

She smacked the back of his head, "Oh! You are impossible!"

England couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, nor could he stop himself from pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I'm teasing, _darling_, but I would ever so much prefer if we were watching shitty French telly back in Paris."

France grinned, stopping them as she pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "Too bad." She laughed as she pulled back, "Let's go, their date would be nothing without a little spice."

England raised an eyebrow, "What are you implying?"

France just grinned wider.

* * *

_Austria_

* * *

Prussia looked great this evening. If he had to bet, he would say that she'd had some kind of outside assistance with her appearance tonight. Probably France, maybe Hungary if she was still insisting on being nosey about the whole ordeal.

That wasn't a judgement on Prussia at all, her appearance that was. No, she looked lovely usually in his opinion, stunning even. But, well, she had makeup on today, her face lightly shaped, her eyes brought out with some kind of eye makeup which made them practically shine and her lips…

Her lips were coated in a shade of red that was just too alluring.

Prussia _was _alluring. That was perhaps the worst part of all this, that he was actually considering having a serious relationship with _Prussia_ of all people. Times really do change, he supposed.

Not that that was a bad thing.

He glanced over at Prussia again, still grinning as she was and took a moment to take her happy and carefree expression in while she was distracted because he knew it would turn to a smirk as soon as it was directed at him. Not that he didn't love that smirk, as infuriatingly irritating as it always turned out to be, but… It was just so different as she dragged him forwards excitedly, a skip in her step and a sparkle in her eye and-

He averted his eyes as she turned to him.

"Are you staring at me?" she asked, a light laugh in her voice.

"What? No." His face was probably pink, but he could blame that on the cold.

"Yes, you were." She grinned, spinning him around and flopping her arms over his shoulders. And there was that smirk, where the left side of her mouth curled up and you could catch a tiny glimpse of teeth, her nose crinkled and her eyebrows pinched, and it was awful the way a tiny droop in her eyelids could gain so much of his attention but it did. Or it did until she pressed a sloppy kiss to his already pink nose, making it go only pinker, not that Prussia could see through the lipstick stain she'd left.

Prussia walked him along like this for a few steps, laughing at the mark and licking a finger to wipe it off. Meanwhile all Austria could do was watch the place on her lips where the lipstick had rubbed off.

It didn't take long for Prussia to notice him noticing, and there was that left corner curling, and those teeth which he still thought were strangely sharp-looking, and-

Well, the next thing he knew the two of them were falling into an undignified heap on the floor.

* * *

_France_

* * *

"_France_, _Poppet_, this seems like a terrible idea."

France hushed England with a finger pressed into his lips, peering around the corner alley and at the two other nations curled around each other. They were so sweet, she hoped she and England were that cute, not that they did anything that cute ever, she'd have to rectify that.

"I mean," England continued through the finger, making his voice slightly muffled but no less dry, "I see less _'romance_' and more _'concussion'_."

"Hush! They will hear you! Now just cast your silly magic you silly man." She slapped the back of his head playfully, making England huff and roll his eyes in distaste. He poked his head out from around the corner and clicked his fingers, muttering some nonsense under his breath which honestly made France thing he was just humouring her and babbling gibberish. Well, that was until the two of them fell over, and she had to cover her mouth to hide a laugh and a squeal.

England grabbed her by the collar, then, pulling her back into the Alley and pressing her against the wall. "Are we done now?" he asked, voice suggesting there was only one correct answer.

France raised an eyebrow in challenge, "No."

England stepped forward, pressing them together and neither of them could hold in their smiled enough to reign in a smirk, "Oh really? I was under the impression that there was a hotel room down the street absolutely _begging _to hear you screaming my name."

France leaned up on her toes and purred, "I do not think it is the hotel room, _Angleterre_."

"Mmn… Perhaps not, but you wouldn't begrudge me that, now would you?"

France pecked his lips, "Of course not."

She was sure Prussia and Austria would be _fine _from here on out.

* * *

_Prussia_

* * *

She wished she could say she wished she'd been looking where she was going, because that patch of ice had come out of _nowhere_. But after she got over the initial shock and the air being knocked out of her, she got to notice the position that they'd ended up in…

And Austria…

Well, he looked really nice. Like really, _really _nice, from this angle, in this light, with the flush of cold colouring his cheeks. His eyes really were a beautiful shade of purple, a shade she was absolutely certain could not be found anywhere else but right in front of her at that moment.

He blinked down at her, and she couldn't help but notice the snowflake that had caught on the rim of his glasses. Those stupid glasses that the idiot didn't even need but insisted on wearing because he thought he needed them to look handsome. He was an idiot, because he looked handsome anyway, and Prussia didn't think he could ever look anything but. Because she'd seen him tired and hungover before, and even then, when his eyes were hooded and dragged down with bags and a frown he looked handsome. And she'd seen him beaten and bloody, and even when he had a swollen eye and a bleeding lip to go with his knocked out teeth he still looked handsome.

It was then that she decided that they were too old to stand on ceremony, she'd been alive for too many years, and dead for just enough that she couldn't see any more reason to beat around the bush.

"Shit," she breathed, and her hands which had previously been resting on the pavement at her sides lifted up and cupped his cheeks. Those same cheeks flared with colour and this time she was certain that it was more than the snow, because now it was the colour of her lipstick stain and she was filled with the overwhelming desire to plant more on those cheeks.

She leant up and Austria's breath hitched, because by now surely even _he _was able to read the messages her gaze must have been sending. Even if she hadn't said the words to herself yet, she was sure her eyes would do the work for her as far as Austria was concerned.

She pressed their lips together lightly, and she should have perhaps closed her eyes, but she was still so caught up in the shade of Austria's that she couldn't bring herself to look away. The look in his eyes was amazing, equal parts fondness and awe, and she found herself breathless over the warmth of them, the butterflies which had still to leave her stomach bouncing off the wall in their excitement.

She pulled away, only far enough to press her nose against his, feeling her lips lift up into a smile as she noticed the matching lipstick stain on Austria's lips.

"Is here really the place?" Austria asked, and there was something in his voice that said he really wasn't in a hurry to move but said so only because he was currently pressing Prussia into the ice-covered cobblestones.

Prussia shook her head, siding her arms up to cling to his scarf and hold him in place, "No, but I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Austria continued, a worried twinge to his voice, and Prussia wanted to roll her eyes and slap him and kiss him all at once, "You could catch yo-"

"Oh shut up," she laughed, pulling him down into another kiss, and this time she did close her eyes, and suck in a deep breath through her nose and pull him in close against her. She opened her mouth, and he kissed her back like she was the most amazing thing in his world at that precise moment.

The butterflies were fluttering about like they were desperate to escape, but Prussia gave them no chance, pressing her tongue up against Austria's as she did that same with her body and feeling a jolt of something which she realized later was the realization that this was their first sober kiss, and, well, it was better than any drunken kiss could ever be.

The kiss was short, messy and wet and when they pulled apart Prussia had to laugh at the smudged red around Austria's mouth even though she knew she must look just as bad.

She hummed out a happy sound, nipping on his nose, "Want to skip dinner?"

Austria laughed at that, and Prussia only grinned widely at the charmingly ugly sound, he really did had an awful laugh, all snorts and wheezes, but when you got to hear a sound as rarely as you did Austria's laugh you start to appreciate even it's ugliness.

"Well, you do look like a mess now, hardly suitable for a place of business." Austria chuckled, and Prussia snorted.

"_Please_, like you look any better."

"You couldn't have thought to wear a lipstick which _didn't _smear?"

Prussia pushed him off with a laugh, and she only laughed harder and Austria's indignant snort, "Look, _Ungarn _dressed me, okay, and anyway, I didn't expect the kissing to be happening _before _dinner."

Austria shook his head with a roll of his eyes as the both of them sat up, "I'm not entirely sure I believe you," he huffed, rubbing absentmindedly at his lips until Prussia stopped him.

"Don't do that, I like it." She grinned, running a thumb over his lip.

"I must look ridiculous, _Preußen, _I mean you do."

Prussia shook her head, standing up and holding out her hand for Austria to do the same, "You do, but I like it."

She kissed him again, grinning against his mouth because a little part of her was still giddy over their original kiss, "Makes you look mine."

When she pulled away Austria was smiling, and it wasn't mocking or sceptical, it was soft and tender and it made Prussia want to stand up on her toes and kiss him again. "Am I?" He asked, and Prussia felt her face heat up for the first time that night.

She laughed nervously, averting her eyes because this was as close to a love confession as she could ever see herself getting with Austria, "If you want to be."

He lifted her chin up, and she flicked her eyes back to him. His eyes were still soft and his cheeks were still pink and she could hardly believe when his lips formed the words, "I do."

She didn't have to for long though, because soon those lips didn't have to form any words at all, because hers were against them and she just wanted to feel them there forever.

And then they fell over.

And they just held onto each other and laughed.

* * *

_Spain_

* * *

"He won't answer my calls." She bemoaned, curling into herself on the couch, her arms clutching a pillow that her face was buried into.

"You broke his heart," Portugal replied dryly, which only earned him that same pillow to the back of his head.

"You talk to England too much! You're so cruel!"

Portugal laughed, rolling his eyes, and turning to face the pout which was firmly planted on Spain's face, "Look, he'll answer them eventually, and that's when we can put operation '_sweep him off his feet_' into action."

Spain sniffed, "I miss him."

Portugal chuckled, walking over to press a kiss to her forehead, "He'll see sense. I promise."

"How can you?" she grumbled, her eyes flicking up to scowl at him.

Portugal smiled, "Because he's head over heels for you, you just have to show him that you feel the same." He ruffled her hair with a light chuckle, "He'll come around, it'll take time but if you love him you'll do it."

Spain nodded, "I do, I love him so much."

Portugal grinned, "I know, you'll be fine."


End file.
